Dove's Heart
by Fuu43
Summary: Pre-Series. Sam goes missing and Dean and John struggle to find him. Sometimes appearances can be deceiving.
1. Fear and Regret

Quick Author's Note: So, besides Supernatural, I also love a good fairytale. So, I got this idea rather suddenly… and decided to run with it… I hope to achieve a Supernatural story that mixes an old school fairytale feel with our boys… and also gives a good helping of angst. (Cause you can really never have too much...)

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Side Note: This is a pre-series… with the boys at age 16 and 12.

Dove's Heart

Chapter One: Fear and Regret

Rated: PG-13 (for language and violence)

Disclaimer: I do not own the Winchesters…

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Dean sat heavily on the lumpy mattress near the bathroom. Leaning forward, he rested his head on his hands and ignored the loud thunder and bright flashes of lightning outside the room. The weather was terrible, a torrential rain that had started an hour earlier and shut down the entire town. The sky outside was inky black streaked with grey, though Dean knew that beneath the dark clouds a full moon glared.

They had tried several places, but nothing was open. No one was out and about to answer questions or glean information from and the helplessness of the situation made his chest ache. He could hear his father moving around the hotel room, bringing in his bag and kicking several old pizza boxes that had been stacked in a corner.

Though Dean was soaked through and shivering, he couldn't bring himself to care. He felt drained, empty, and the thought of being clean and warm made him feel vaguely ill.

"Dean," his dad's voice was quiet in the room, softer than he could remember it being in a long time. The last month had done that to his father, made him a hollow man whose voice didn't rise above a soft stern order, "Go take a shower."

Shaking his head back and forth, Dean glanced up at his dad. His father peeled off his drenched coat, throwing it on the back of one of the rickety chairs set next to the small corner table. Shrugging off his t-shirt, Dean watched his father go through his duffle bag for warm clothes. His head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton.

"Dean," he pulled his eyes from the far wall, "take a shower."

Hearing the tone of his father's voice, the edge that had crept up into it, he stood up quickly and tried to get his bearings. His father was walking a tightrope and Dean wasn't certain how long his dad could maintain the balancing act. His father couldn't remain in the state he was in forever, and Dean wasn't sure what would happen when the dam burst. Shrugging out of his coat, he threw it over the other chair and toed out of his shoes. They were sopping wet and probably ruined.

He knew his father wouldn't let the shower issue drop and struggled toward the small space. His dad hadn't been able to let much of anything drop since…

Dean shut his eyes, pulling his mind from the sudden dark thoughts that made his heart race.

The bathroom was worn down and faded, the sink and shower chipped and stained. The walls were covered in blue patterned wallpaper that was moldy and had started to peel at the edges. The water was hot, so warm that Dean was certain his back would be bright red and sore. He liked the uncomfortable heat, felt some reassurance in the stinging sensation. Resting his head against the grimy tiled wall, he forced his breath to slow and strained his ears.

Even now, he was certain that this was all some sort of terrible nightmare. If he just listened carefully enough, he'd hear him in the other room, nagging their father or noisily unpacking.

Over the sound of the shower and the loud rain, the motel room was quiet.

He finished quickly, roughly toweling dry, knowing that his father was still stuck waiting for his own turn. The air was chilly, just cold enough that the warm beads of water that still lingered on his skin soon raised goose bumps.

Shrugging on a pair of sweatpants and a raggedy t-shirt, Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, not bothering to look at himself in the dingy mirror above the vanity. He knew he was sleep deprived, that there were bags under his eyes and harsh lines surrounding his mouth. It felt like he'd aged ten years the last ten days. He wouldn't be surprised to learn that he'd dropped a few pounds either; food was about as appealing as ash.

In the other room his dad had turned on the television and had just flipped shut his bulky cell phone.

"Pizza will be here in twenty. If I'm not out of the shower I left some cash on the table."

Dean nodded in understanding, his mind already miles away. Sitting on their unkempt bed, not _his_ bed, never just _his_ bed, Dean pulled out the book he'd started leafing through the evening before. It was one of many that littered the room; they'd been stacked on every available surface, including the floor.

Many he recognized; he knew the feel of the binding and the width of the pages. Some though were new, still sitting in bags or boxes, waiting to be studied.

The far wall had been dedicated to any theories or leads they'd managed to find. Dozens of Polaroid pictures littered the wall, each with their own space beneath for patterns or ideas. It was woefully bare, the clippings haphazardly taped with handwritten notes. For all the weeks they'd been looking, the amount of information they still lacked was like a slap in the face. Dean worked without pause, stopping only occasionally to write something down or cross reference what he had read in another book. He'd never thought of himself as much of a 'researcher,' but had read in the last month more than he probably had in the last five years.

He knew finding an answer in one of the books was a slim possibility. In fact, just thinking of what a waste all their searching more than likely was made him bristle with anger. Dean's hand clenched involuntarily, crushing the page he'd been about to flip. He thought he'd passed the hot anger stage, thought that he'd moved on to the cold fury that consumed his father, but supposed he hadn't.

Whenever his dad was out of sight Dean felt the coldness leech out of him. His heart raced, his palms sweat, and deep inside gut wrenching anger collided with nauseating fear. The worry gnawed at him until he couldn't think, couldn't operate. Even now he could feel it, eating away his insides and leaving the sharp taste of bile in the back of his throat. He was simultaneously struck with the desire to smash every piece of furniture in the room and curl up into a ball and cry.

"Dean?" his dad's voice cut through the quiet and Dean tried to hide his surprise. He hadn't even heard the shower turn off, "Are you going to get that?"

His father rubbed at his hair with a stained towel and motioned towards the door. Dean cocked his head and heard a knock. He supposed it probably hadn't been the first.

Struggling to his feet, he tripped over the edge of the bed and grabbed at the cash his father had left out. He wasn't hungry, even the thought of food made him ill, but his father had already told him more than once that not eating wasn't an option. But the thought of consuming food, of allowing himself any sort of comfort when…

He shoved the thought away and opened the door. The delivery guy looked like a wet rat, his hair plastered to his skull, forehead, and ears. The red standard collared shirt was now a deep crimson.

"That will be fifteen ninety five." Dean watched the guy shiver, the silver of his lip ring glinting in the dark. Dean paid him and pushed the door closed with his foot. They'd had the same guy deliver pizza the last four times and if given the opportunity he was a chatter box.

The pizza was garbage, a mess of meat and vegetables that looked as appetizing as a wet piece of newspaper. Grabbing a greasy slice, he slouched on the far bed and ate it mechanically, wondering if he could stomach a second. Dean didn't think so. His eyes focused briefly on the program playing on the television, but quickly wandered away.

"So," his father ate his own piece and seemed to study the banged up table the box was on. They didn't do much talking anymore and the noise was foreign, "Tomorrow we'll be heading out as soon as the rain lets up."

Dean listened to the words and heard the order in them. His body straightened at the tone of voice, adrenalin flooded his veins. It was an automatic response that hadn't diminished despite all that had happened. In fact, his father's orders were one of the few things that gave him a reason to get up every morning. His father wouldn't allow him to succumb to the deep seeded terror that threatened him at the end of each day.

After choking down a piece that tasted more like sand than pizza, he went back to work. He could hear his father finish his own pizza and the two worked with the television as background noise. Dean wasn't sure how long he paged through articles, books, and miscellaneous leads that seemed to lead nowhere, but when his father finally sighed loudly Dean's attention shifted back to him.

"Dean, go to bed."

Dean knew without asking that his father would be up much later, paging through obscure leads and drinking stale coffee. He had tried arguing with his father, tried reasoning with him and disobeying him, but his dad never budged. While he ran himself into the ground, Dean would at least get the sleep that they both so desperately needed. Dean reasoned it was his dad's way of knowing that at least one of his children was getting to bed at a decent hour.

Not that laying in bed awake all night really counted.

Setting the books that were scattered across the bed onto the floor, he lay under the scratchy sheets and stared at the ceiling. His father clicked off two of the three lamps and the television, casting the room in mostly darkness. The motel was familiar even without light; Dean had memorized every shadow after nights of insomnia. The ceiling above was bumpy and stained, the pillow beneath his head lumpy and smelling faintly of mildew. Closing his eyes, some of his tension drained at the quiet noise of his father working.

Dean rolled over, the sound of the rain beating against the roof loud and rhythmic. His arm unintentionally snaked out onto the empty half of the bed. For some reason, he still expected to feel the warm body of his sleeping brother.

_Sam was a ball of nervous energy next to him, pushing at his long bangs and bouncing his left leg up and down in a staccato rhythm. Smiling, he turned his head and looked at Dean, the dimples on his cheeks standing out sharply on his rounded face. Though his eyes were half hidden by his hair, Dean could see the curiosity in them. He tried to wink at Dean, then used his arms to help him bounce on the bed. _

_At twelve his limbs were gangly, the last of his baby fat melting away to reveal a coltish frame. He was all elbows and knees and his coordination had been shot to hell the last six months. Dean couldn't remember how many times his brother had stumbled, tripped, or somehow ended up on the floor in a tangle of limbs. The shirt he wore was a faded blue and just slightly too big for him, an old hand-me-down. It was Sam's favorite._

_The motel room was clean with one bed and two battered end tables. A wide window sat next to the door, lavender curtains pulled across them. The carpet on the floor was a dusty rose with flowers and vines in purple and green. It was a hideous pattern._

_Dean concentrated on the floor and watched it swirl, vines lazily moving and crisscrossing. He cocked his head to the side, trying to focus on the shifting plants. One of the flowers lazily opened an eye and hissed. Dean didn't recognize the room, but watched Sam laugh and roll back onto the comforter, his legs still hanging off the end. He hadn't seemed to notice the strange floor._

"_Dean?" his brother giggled, "Can we go outside now?"_

_Though Dean couldn't remember just how they'd gotten there, he nodded his head and started to stand. Remembering the carpet, he glanced down just in time to avoid another flower that had a gaping mouth and sharp looking teeth. He quickly pulled his feet up and out of harm's way, scooting fully onto the bed. It snapped menacingly, closing its mouth and stilling again. The carpet continued to move, creating an odd rhythm that was slightly memorizing and nauseating. Though his brother's feet didn't touch the ground, he still grabbed at Sam's legs and moved them onto the bed. _

_Beneath his hands the comforter was rough from age and use. It too was a mismatched mess of pastels. _

_His brother continued to laugh, rolling onto his side and tugging at Dean to sprawl out onto the bed next to him. The emotion was contagious, Sam's delight making it impossible to stay closed off._

"_I thought we were going out?" Sam's voice was inquiring but content, clearly okay with staying right where they were._

_Dean couldn't trust the ground at the moment and wasn't sure why their father would have checked them into such a dangerous motel. If Dean hadn't been there, Sam probably would have gotten hurt. He didn't know about the floor, didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss. His father was supposed to be there and Dean couldn't understand why his dad hadn't warned him about what could have happened, what nearly had happened. _

_He leaned back next to his younger brother, Sam curling in close and seeming suddenly small for his age. He wrapped on arm around his younger brother and reflexively glanced up at the ceiling._

_Sam was there, his eyes and mouth open in shock. The blue shirt he wore was now a dark purple, blood pooling and dripping. His small shaking frame was pinned and Dean felt the breath leave his lungs in an odd gasp._

"_Dean?"_

_Sam was next to him, playing with the talisman that Dean wore and humming quietly. Dean wasn't sure why he'd accepted the talisman from his brother, he should have insisted that Sam keep it and wear it. His hands were small; he wasn't a day over eight. Sam tucked his head into Dean's shoulder, the vibrations from his voice causing a slight tickle in Dean's chest. His voice was high and squeaky; his hands were chubby and clumsy. Dean's eyes flickered to the ceiling, it was bare except for a lone fly that crawled lazily across it. _

"_Are we going out?" _

_Dean glanced down at the top of Sam's head, the dark hair shifting as Sam tilted his face up. His eyes were suspiciously wet. Dean's heart stuttered at the sight. Not trusting the floor, he pulled himself back up and leaned over the edge of the bed. Sam followed him, burrowing into his side and wrapping an arm around him. Dean adjusted automatically. _

_Dean wasn't sure where they were, how their father had gotten them there, but was uncertain and on edge. Straining his arm, he grabbed at the curtains covering the window and pulled them open. _

_Outside the sky was red and angry like an infected wound. Even the clouds appeared to be furious, visibly storming across the sky and releasing hard droplets of rain. As if a flip had been switched, Dean could hear it pelting against the roof of the motel. The light hurt his eyes, and cast a strange glow in the room. It felt as if his skin could melt off at any moment. Butting up against the small parking lot there were trees and Dean knew with a certainty that startled him that there were things in there… things that were watching. _

"_Dean?" his brother asked, not seeming to notice the bright red sky._

"_Sammy," Dean kept his eyes on the forest and saw something move just beyond the tree line, "We're not going out right now, okay?"_

_He tried to keep his voice steady and held on to the fact that at least Sam was safe with him in the room. Without another thought he closed the curtains and cut off the strange light and peering eyes. He only wished he could reach the door to double check the lock. _

_Turning his face back to Sam, he stilled. Beyond the bed the bathroom light was on, the door barely cracked. _

_His brother stopped humming and watched Dean quizzically. _

_Dean was frozen, his heart hammering in his chest. There was a shadow under the bathroom door and quiet noises as someone moved around._

"_Dad?" _

_Dean's voice wavered, his body tensing. More than anything he wanted it to be his father. But he knew the way his father moved, knew the sounds that he made while getting ready in the morning, and knew almost as soon as the question had left his lips that it wasn't him. Straining his ears, he focused on the noises he could only just hear above the rain. It was a woman's voice beyond the door, saying something that he couldn't make out. _

_The voice spoke again, still too quiet for him to decipher the words but just loud enough for him to recognize the person. He could feel the blood in his veins chill, his eyes taking in the room again._

_Somehow it had filled with objects, figures, papers, and charms that littered every available surface. Dean's eyes scanned over the plethora of stuff, his heart stuttering at the thoughts trying to organize themselves. He recognized everything, his mind mechanically cataloging which pieces he'd looked at, which ones were still unidentified. _

"_Dean?"_

_He turned and wrapped an arm around his brother, pulling him close. Sam squirmed, but Dean's grasp remained firm. Sam didn't seem concerned at the woman in the bathroom, but Sam had never met her. He had been in the car and hadn't even gone into the home until after she had been taken care of._

_She was there though, somehow just beyond the door – Dean knew it. He could feel it under his skin, and the urge to go into the bathroom and beat her bloody was overwhelming. But Sam was next to him; Sam was safe. He pulled his brother tightly against him, feeling the fluttery beat of his heart. He smelled like books and soap and hadn't touched any funny objects or even stepped out of his brother's sight._

_He had to get Sam out of that room, before the woman came out and saw them, before she saw Sam. Swiveling so that his feet hung off the bed, he jerked them back up. The flowers were still there, teeth snapping and eyes watching. _

"_Sammy," he pulled his brother closer, wishing he could somehow keep tugging until his brother was completely a part of him and hidden. _

"_Dean?" Sammy's voice was muffled in Dean's shirt, confused and young, "Where am I?"_

_Dean glanced down at the top of his brother's head. _

"_What?" _

_But Sammy said nothing else, just lay still in his brother's arms. His younger brother's heart thudded in his ears, an odd ringing accompanying it. There was an itch under his skin, the need to do something eating away at him. But Dean didn't want to do anything, knew that if he moved the woman would appear and then Sammy would be gone again. _

_Something though was ringing and the noise cut through everything else and made Sammy flicker and moan._

Dean jerked awake, his eyes opening and his heart straining against his ribcage. Shaking slightly, he propped himself up on an elbow and ran a hand over his sweat drenched forehead. Trying to gather his bearings, his eyes flickered across the dark room and automatically searched for his brother. He knew instantly that his brother wasn't there.

_Sammy, God… Sammy…_

Dean's body trembled at the thought of his brother and he felt a hot burn beneath his eyes. If he concentrated he could still feel an eight year old Sammy cuddling up to him and asking to go outside. Hell, he could picture Sam without thought, looking as he had a month ago, twelve years old and ready to take on the world.

During the day it was easy to pretend, _easier _to remain confident and cool. But at night, with the dark pressing in, it was impossible to not feel as if he were suffocating. There was a weight pressing in on his chest and every day that Sam was gone, the weight seemed to increase. He didn't know how he was expected to sleep, to function, when his brother was not there next to him.

It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed of Sam, his brother had started making almost nightly appearances. And it was almost worse, because the Sam of his dreams seemed younger, more vulnerable, and Dean had woken up more than once with a sick stomach.

Something sounded and Dean tried to wrap his head around the unnaturally pitched repetitive noise. Still more asleep than awake, he pushed at the stifling comforter and sat fully up.

"Dad?"

The phone rang again, sharp and cutting, and in the dark he could see his father slowly sitting up from where he had fallen asleep. Dean didn't think his father had slept in a bed since Sam had disappeared.

"Go back to bed Dean," his father's voice was rough and low.

They'd been getting calls at all hours for over a week, hunters that his dad had contacted for information or ideas. His father hadn't wanted to call anyone at first, had been so sure that he would have Sam back in no time. Dean didn't know when his father had first phoned Bobby and Pastor Jim, but was thankful that there were more people trying to find his brother. He seemed to be failing at it.

The calls always woke him and even now he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. He was surprised, like he was most times after he stuttered awake, that he'd even fallen asleep in the first place. Closing his eyes, he listened to his father stagger across the room to where he'd left the phone. Outside the rain continued to beat against the roof. He hoped Sam was somewhere dry.

"Yeah?" His father's voice was curt and quiet.

Dean can barely hear the noise on the other end of the line, but in the dark can feel the air shift. It was as if a vacuum had suddenly turned on, as if all the sounds and smells had been sucked from the room. Dean didn't hear the rain, couldn't smell the old pizza or dirty clothes. Something had changed and Dean wasn't sure whether it was good or bad.

He felt the edge and swallowed down the bitter taste of fear and regret. The Winchesters had no time for either.

He watched his father stand in the room, a tall dark silhouette, heard his father's voice painfully catch.

"Sammy?"

And Dean's topsy-turvy world finally came to a halting stop.

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Brief Ending Author's Note: Though there are a few things about this chapter I don't especially love, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts… You should probably review!


	2. Responsibility and Failure

Wow, this chapter was really hard for me to write for some reason. I ended up re-writing huge chunks of it multiple times. I just sort of decided that I needed to be 'done' with it and move on. I can be sooo picky sometimes! And after all, the next chapter is starting to write itself!

Oh, and on another topic altogether... I saw the movie Push this weekend and was fantastically surprised. The actor that plays 'Young Sammy' was in it! I kept on saying to myself, where's Dean??? LOL...

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Dove's Heart

Chapter Two: Responsibility and Failure

Rated PG-13 (for language and violence)

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

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Dean's fingers clenched at the seat beneath him as they drove. He hadn't bothered to pull on a pair of jeans and the soft fabric of his sweatpants felt odd against the leather seat beneath him. The clothing he wore was sopping wet but he ignored the shakes and shivers that had wracked his frame from the moment they'd entered the car. His bare arms were covered in goose bumps and his teeth chattered loudly.

He hadn't bothered to throw on a coat and his father had been too distracted to make him. Not that his father had done differently. He too was shaking and shivering, his clothing wet and dripping on the seats. Like Dean, his father didn't notice.

Dean's entire body was coiled tightly and he wished more than anything that it wasn't raining so hard. The windshield wipers were on the highest setting, squeaking loudly as they rapidly traveled across the glass. The water pelted against the roof and sides, creating a dull roar that seemed to eat away all the sound.

The roads were empty, small rivers of water flooding up and over the sides of the worn highway. The lights of the car barely cut through the heavy rain, the thick trees on either side making it impossible to see beyond the road. It was nearing dawn, Dean knew that, but the dark sky was still inked an oppressing shade of black. He sat next to his dad, his frame itching to take the wheel from his father and push the gas pedal to the floor.

But the roads were barely drivable, and he'd probably get them killed in less than five minutes. Hell, with the way his heart was racing Dean would be surprised if the car lasted a full thirty seconds.

His eyes shut themselves tightly and he focused all of his attention on his father's voice. The cold was nothing; the rain was nothing. His father had been speaking steadily the last twenty minutes, sometimes forcefully, sometimes pleadingly and Dean concentrated on the words his father directed towards his youngest. Dean had long since stopped imagining his brother's responses, was certain that the answers he imagined were a form of self torture he simply couldn't endure right now.

"Sammy," his father's voice barely cut through the sound of the rain, "Are you okay?"

That same question had been asked at least a half dozen times and Dean felt his heart skip again. Even now his breathing stilled as he waited to see what his father would do, how he would react. Dean's blood pounded in his ears as his entire focus centered and held on his father.

Dean knew that the repetitive questions were a bad sign and that something had to be really wrong. His mind skirted around the chillingly practical thoughts, unable to believe that anything bad could happen to Sam. Dean knew that the idea was ridiculous, that his brother had gotten hurt plenty of times, but still he couldn't bring himself to imagine Sam injured and alone and scared. Dean was supposed to be there with his brother; he should never have left Sam's side.

Dean watched his father, saw his face grow tighter and paler at whatever Sam said to him. Dean wished that he could hear his brother's voice too, that he could reach through the phone and physically drag his brother through it.

His father drove with one hand on the wheel while the other clutched at their only connection to his youngest son. Dean didn't try to think about where his brother had been the last month, how he had disappeared and then reappeared out of the blue. He didn't dare to dwell on the idea that it wasn't Sammy on the phone, that it was something else pretending to be him. Dean hadn't had much of a reason to hope the last month and the sensation was unnatural and overwhelming.

Sammy was in Oakdale, Sammy _had_ to be in Oakdale, stuck in a phone booth next to a record store with a beaten up 'Closed' sign strung up in the far window. He'd overheard that much information, his father repeating it back to Sammy several times. It had become a silent mantra for Dean, the words looping themselves in his mind. They knew where Sam was; Sam wasn't missing; Sam was close.

"Shit."

The curse erupted from his father as the car suddenly fought for traction. They skidded across the road, barely staying on it, and Dean's already tense body clenched in frustration even as his heart raced. This was the third time they'd nearly driven off the road and he was tired of the distractions. He felt as if someone was playing with them, drawing out the drive until Dean wanted to scream and curse. His father spun the wheel expertly, the car coming to a quick but controlled stop.

Dean stomped down on the nausea that had risen as they'd been jostled. The pizza from earlier was like lead in his stomach. His teeth clenched and he resisted the urge to hit something. Though the rain still battered against the outside of the car, it was quiet enough that his father's voice filled the space.

"No Sammy," his father's voice betrayed nothing, "That was just Dean messing with the radio. You know your brother."

Dean glanced over at his father and watched him crank the steering wheel and gun the gas again. He knew that under normal circumstances his brother would have never have swallowed such an obvious lie. It was the third that had been told and it by far the most ridiculous.

The car took off like a bullet and once more a dull roar filled the vehicle. They couldn't keep driving like this. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd thought straight and tried to pull himself together. Driving the way they were was suicidal and usually he was smart enough to know that. It was hard though to hear his other thoughts when _Sammy's close_ kept pushing out everything else. But sooner or later they'd end up crushed or bent around a tree and bleeding. And then where would Sam be?

Seizing on his resolve while it was strong, Dean motioned for his dad to hand him the phone. His father gave him a sharp look and Dean gestured to the road ahead. His father's eyes were bright, his grip on the phone so tight his knuckles had turned white. It would be impossible to say that his father hadn't changed in the last four weeks, that his youngest son's absence was nothing less than an open festering wound. Dean wondered what his Dad was thinking, if he could hear anything beyond his youngest son's voice.

Even as he waved his hand for the phone again, Dean tried to push his own feelings aside. He ignored the sharp jealousy and the bitter resentment that lingered just beneath the surface. If he concentrated he could almost pretend that he needed the phone solely for their safety, that it had nothing to do with the fact that he'd be able to hear Sam's voice.

His father nodded stiffly, not comfortable with the situation but accepting of it nevertheless, "Sammy, I'm going to put Dean on the phone okay?"

His dad spoke reassuringly, using a soft tone that Dean hadn't heard since Sam was seven and in the hospital with a broken collarbone.

"_Keep him calm_."

The words were mouthed at Dean as the phone was passed to him and Dean stomped down the flair of anger at his father's warning. Dean had never needed anyone to tell him how to take care of his brother. He knew his brother better than anyone, knew every expression, every tone of voice, every whiny complaint and telling sigh.

Shaking off the negative feelings, Dean pushed them away and concentrated on the task at hand. As much as his father's words bothered him, he understood that now was not the time to be petty. He may know how to take care of his brother but his father was the driving force that maintained their fragile existence. And right now Dean's need to trust his father was all that he had. _Sammy was safe, their dad would fix everything._

He nodded at his dad, who turned his attention back to the road and increased their speed until the noise of the rain was like a hurricane.

"Sammy?"

Dean had wanted to say something comforting but the gut wrenching fear seemed to override all other words. He hadn't said his brother's name aloud in weeks and for a moment he thought he might actually heave all over the interior of his dad's car. His voice seemed to be coming out of someone else's body.

"Dean?"

His body trembled at the small voice that came through the phone. It was hesitant, scared, and made every bone in Dean's body ache with need to _do_ something. Dean was certain that his brother had been crying, could practically taste the salty tears that undoubtedly stained Sam's face. Once more he was struck with the urge to beat something bloody. Dean cleared his throat and closed his eyes.

"Hey Sammy, we'll be there soon."

Dean wanted to say more but was aware that his father had already quizzed Sam several times. As much as he wanted to hear the answers himself, Dean knew that his brother was barely keeping it together. Instead, he let out a breath slowly and forced his free hand to unclench. What he really needed to do was let his brother know that he was on his way, that Dean was done fucking up his job.

"Dean," his brother's voice was ragged and he repeated the name several times in a low voice until the _Deans_ ran together and the older brother couldn't recognize it.

"Shhhhhh, Sammy, you're okay."

Dean heard his own voice start to break with emotion as he spoke and stamped down on it. Now was not the time for him to lose it. He concentrated on his brother, on the name Sam continued to repeat. He seemed to have gotten stuck on a loop, continuing to say his brother's name over and over.

"I'm here Sammy."

He hadn't wanted to speak over Sam but his brother was stuck and it was scaring him. Dean opened his eyes and glanced at the road in front of them. The words tasted hollow and he wondered how Sam could ever forgive them. Dean was certain he'd never forgive himself. They weren't _there _and hadn't been wherever Sam had been for four weeks. Even now he was a liar because despite how much he wanted to be there next to his brother, he wasn't.

"I'm scared," the voice if possible had gotten smaller, "Please don't tell Dad."

At twelve his brother had decided that he was practically a grown-up and that coddling was for babies. Their father was in perfect agreement.

Dean could admit that he had always had a bit of a soft spot for his younger brother and he knew without a doubt his father did too. No matter how much of a hard-ass his father could be, Dean had seen what rested beneath his father's usually impenetrable facade. His dad loved his youngest with a fierce intensity that Sam never seemed to recognize. Sam was the innocence that both Dean and his father had lost years ago.

And Dean would do anything to protect it.

However, Sam admitting that he was scared? It chilled Dean to the bone. The car turned sharply and Dean bit back his cry of surprise.

"I won't Sammy, I promise. It will be our secret."

He could feel the relief through the phone; Dean was aware of the power that the words 'I promise' had on his brother. He used them now without pause.

Struggling with what to say, Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes and spoke,

"So, have you missed me?"

He kept his tone light, though even he could hear how flat the words sounded. What he wanted to say he couldn't and more than anything he just needed to keep his brother talking.

"Dean, I don't… I don't know how I got here. Everything's fuzzy," Sam's voice trembled and once again he seemed to be fighting tears, "And my clothing is all ratty and I woke and it was dark and you weren't there and there's something _on_ me and I'm all wet and I can't stop shivering and I want you here."

Dean tried to wrap his mind around his brother's convoluted sentence, tried to think of what he could say to make his brother calm down again. Sam's words twisted in his head and Dean felt his shivering body pause.

The words his brother had used were strange and Dean heard warning bells in his head go off.

"Sammy," he tried to keep his voice calm, "What's on you?"

Sam made a noise that sounded slightly like an animal, a high pitch whine that made the hairs on the back of Dean's neck rise.

"Shhhh, Sammy, it's okay, it's okay. I'm here, I'm right here."

He continued to speak soothing words, even after his brother's voice wavered and then stopped. On the other end of the phone he could hear muted sobs and wheezing breaths. He knew his brother and was terrified with the sudden insight that Sam wouldn't last that much longer.

Dean could feel the tension in the car rise, knew that all of his dad's attention was now centered on him and not the road. Not that Dean could blame him. Sam was falling apart and Dean was desperately trying to hold him together with just his voice.

The unspoken words in his father's posture seemed to sear themselves into the air between them.

_Don't let me down; don't let Sammy down._

"I don't know," when Sam's voice sounded again it wasn't quite as broken as Dean feared it might be. That was his brother; he had steel beneath his skin when he needed it. He would hold it together as long as he physically could, "I just… I didn't mean to touch it… and I didn't put it on but now it's on and I can't get it off. I can't and I've tried and tried."

Cursing his brother inwardly for his apologetic tone, Dean said the truth that his brother needed to hear.

"It's okay Sammy, I know it's not your fault. I know."

Dean was curious as hell but the fear in Sam's voice was too strong for him to dismiss. As much as he wanted to ask, as much as he needed to know, Dean knew that Sam simply couldn't take any hard questions right now.

"There's some sort of bird on it I think."

Sam's voice was quiet and barely understandable. Beneath the fear Dean could tell that Sam was trying desperately to say what he thought his older brother wanted to hear. And as much as it bothered Dean, he would use every opportunity he could to draw his brother away from the panic he was drowning in. If Sam thought he needed to be strong for his brother, if that was the one thing keeping him together, then right now Dean would do nothing to stop those thoughts.

They passed by a gas station and Dean silently cheered. They were on the outskirts of Oakdale.

"We're almost there Sammy, we're almost there."

Dean listened, waiting for his brother's voice to chime in. The line was eerily silent and Dean tried to clamp down on the fear that swelled within him.

"Dean?"

He heard the note of apprehension and automatically made his voice even softer.

"Yeah Sammy, what is it?"

His brother was once again barely there and he could hear the sound of stuttered breathing and something striking hard against something else.

"Sammy?"

Dean let his voice grow more stern, hoping that it would be enough to get his brother to respond. The noise happened again, muffled thumps that sounded in a staccato rhythm. Dean mentally ran through noises he knew, trying unsuccessfully to place the odd thuds.

"I don't," Sam's voice was so quiet that Dean brought up his free hand to shut out the sound of rain in his other ear, "…good."

The pounding noise continued, growing louder as the seconds ticked by. It was violent, seemingly unprovoked, and Dean wished that they could be there already. Sam was clearly in trouble, clearly needed help. And Dean was not going to let his brother down again.

His father took a sharp right turn, the car skidding as they drove through the sleepy town at breakneck speed.

"Sammy, what's going on? Come on Sammy, say something!"

Dean ignored the terror he could hear in his own voice and tried to will his brother into saying something.

"Dean!"

His name was half spoken, half screamed in pain, and Dean's heart stopped at the sound.

* * *

The record store was just as his brother had described it, right down to the 'closed' sign that hung at a slight angle in the far window. The street was old, with a worn down look that was not unfamiliar to most small towns. Across the street from it was a hardware store and just down the block the elementary school sat nestled between a small parking lot and an equally tiny playground. There was no one in sight.

Although it was still raining, the newly risen sun had turned the dark clouds a smoky gray. The hard rain had taken seconds to rewet all of Dean's clothing, the previously drenched clothes returning immediately to their earlier sopping state. Though Dean knew he had to be shivering, an odd sort of haze seemed to have covered him.

He felt as if he were watching himself, as if he were stuck behind a thick screen that dampened everything around him. And as much as he wanted to break through the odd fog, Dean was afraid of what was waiting for him on the other side. The intensity of it scared him and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to take it at the moment. If he'd ever be able to handle it.

Not twenty feet from the run down record store was the phone booth his brother had been in. His father was next to it, leaning past the open door and into the small space. The phone dangled from its cord; Sam had never hung up on him. Without concentrating Dean could still hear his brother's cries and hard breathing, could still recall the empty silence when his brother's voice had abruptly died.

Though impossible, from here Dean could smell the blood that coated the inside of the booth, could taste it on his tongue. He'd already thrown up twice and wished that the rain could wash away his shame as easily as it had the stench of vomit.

"Dean."

His father's voice cut across the open space between them and he moved automatically towards him. The booth was empty, though earlier for a few heart stopping seconds Dean had thought that maybe Sam had just knelt down out of sight, that his brother was there and waiting and safe.

But the booth had been empty.

The empty space was a mess of blood and phone book. Pages were scattered on the floor, ripped and shredded and dark with blood. Dark spots and streaks dotted the clear walls as well, as if something had exploded while within. Inside the booth the rain sounded like bullets on the hard plexiglass.

"There isn't too much blood here."

Despite his father's words, he knew there was enough splattered in that phone both that Sam would need stitches. And the blood pattern suggested a struggle, a violent one from the look of it. Dean stood far enough back that he didn't have to see where his brother had been hurt. He had already seen it once, already choked back his tears and seen the disappointment in his father's eyes.

Dean had managed to fail the two most important people in his life.

He wasn't naïve enough to suppose the blood didn't belong to Sam.

He watched his father examine the small space, his brow furrowed as he studied it with an intense focus that seemed to see everything. The lines of exhaustion were smoothed away and his father buzzed with an energy that was like a force of nature.

"Okay, we need to get out of the rain."

His father ran a hand through his wet hair and glanced back at him. Dean knew that his dad had already formulated a plan, that he already had several theories and ideas that could help them find his son. Despite the energy that was rolling off of him, his father's eyes were tired and hard.

Dean didn't bother to say anything, just clutched the phone he still held closer to him. The short conversation he'd had with Sam went through his head again, his brother's voice an odd echo that continually repeated.

Forcing himself, he stepped forward and examined the phone booth's interior again, forcing the image into his permanent memory.

This was what failure looked like.

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It would be awesome of you to review! Please feel free to!


	3. Pain and Memory

Author's Note - So, in honor of my birthday (which officially happened earlier this week), I made this chapter extra long and full of Sammy goodness. On another side note, I've been considering getting/finding someone to beta my Supernatural pieces for me. It probably wouldn't be all the time, and would mostly be for grammar and general feedback. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do... but, if you are interested in any way - please PM me. Even if I don't do the beta thing, it would be a great opportunity to talk to some other Supernatural fans! Anyway, now that I've rambled... Enjoy!

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Dove's Heart

Chapter Three: Pain and Memory

Rated: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

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Sam could feel the ache even before he was fully awake, a dull pain that ran from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. It throbbed in time with his heart beat, a constant pain that dulled his other senses and made him feel as if he were floating. His limbs tingled, more asleep than awake and his eyelids were heavy. Around him sounds were muted, nothing penetrating his ears except for his own shallow breathing. Ignoring the noise, he fought to hear the quiet sounds of his brother and father moving about; he strained his ears and tried to figure out what time it was.

Wherever they were, he was exhausted and undoubtedly so was the rest of his family. It felt as if he'd been sleeping for days, as if his body was still struggling to drag him back into unconsciousness. The telltale noise of the shower running was absent and Sam thanked his luck that no one was awake. He could go back to sleep still, could give into the urge for rest that his body was demanding.

It was probably still the dead of night, his mind too fuzzy to discern if it was late in the evening or early in the morning. He could sleep for two or three more hours before his father got up and his brother dragged the both of them out of bed. Sam always had trouble telling time whenever he was more asleep than awake and even now he wasn't sure exactly how much more sleep he'd get.

The room was dark and a cool breeze let him know that the air conditioner was cranked too high. He usually didn't mind the cold, preferred it to the sweltering heat that made most run down hotel rooms smell like mold and rotten garbage. Now however, he was chilled enough that his fingertips were stiff and the tips of his ears hurt. He toyed only briefly with the notion of trying to locate the blankets he had undoubtedly kicked off. Sam was too close to sleep to move, too tired to try and make his half numb limbs operate.

He sighed and shifted just barely, hoping that the bed would somehow get less uncomfortable. At the moment he envied his brother's ability to fall asleep on any surface, no matter how firm or lumpy or saggy or smelly. Beneath him the mattress was rough and damp, the hotel sheets so scratchy they were almost painful. Something long and coarse tickled at his ear and he tried to burrow deeper into the sheet under him.

Another cold breeze whispered against him and he felt himself slowly start to rise out of his sleep induced haze. Sam knew that moving would probably wake his brother but he didn't think he'd be able to fall back asleep without something covering him. Maybe if he was lucky his brother would sleep through the movements, though Sam couldn't remember him ever doing so in the past. It was like the arctic in there though and Sam needed a blanket. He felt like his fingers were about to fall off.

Swallowing in an attempt to moisten his dry throat, he stuttered and coughed. His body seized at the unintentional movement, the muscles protesting and cramping at the jerky motion. The slow deep pain he'd noticed since waking flared, his nerves seeming to burn under his skin. He moaned in pain, wondering how he had managed to work his body into such a painful state. Taking a deep breath through his mouth, he tried to relax his frame and bring an end the uncontrollable tremors. Attempting to keep himself perfectly still, he continued to shakily regulate his harsh pants and hoped that somehow the cramping muscles would unclench themselves.

His stomach tightened suddenly and he shakily forced himself up and onto his knees. His muscles screamed at the motion, the pain flaring up again and turning the darkness behind his eyelids a dull red.

Even with his eyes still closed, the world swayed around him and blood rushed to his ears. Hoping that Dean wouldn't be too pissed, he leaned forward and felt the surge of bile as it climbed up his throat. He could feel the trembling in his legs, could barely hold his weight with his arms. For a moment his limbs threatened to give way and he tried not to imagine how embarrassing it would be to literally collapse in his own vomit.

The action caused his stomach muscles to protest painfully and he couldn't help the second sound of distress that escaped him. He was more than just sore, he felt as if he were dying, as if his body was rebelling against him. Sam wondered if he'd somehow really hurt himself, if he'd somehow managed to nearly kill himself. After all, an injury would account for his fuzzy memory. And if his dad had given him pain pills, it would explain his cotton mouth and nausea. Wiping a shaky hand at his mouth, he forced his eyes open and readied himself for Dean's mothering.

Even if Dean was angry at Sam for making a mess of the sheets, Sam was looking forward to a cool glass of water and another round of pain pills. Dean always seemed to know what Sam needed, anticipated it without thought, and Sam looked forward to a little bit of coddling.

Though dark his eyes immediately focused on the bent blades of grass peeking out between his fingers. They were a steel gray, the darkness surrounding him leaching out all color. Confused, he stared at the greenery and tried to figure out why his and Dean's bed was covered in grass. Had Dean played some sort of trick on him? Tipping his head up, Sam took in the cool night air and the forest surrounding him.

Swallowing down another wave of nausea, he slowly scanned his unfamiliar surroundings. The trees were thick and gnarled, old and menacing looking. They were tall too, reaching far above him and blocking out most of the clear night sky. Unlike his first thought, there was no lumpy bed beneath him, no sleeping brother next to him. The trees surrounding him were thick with leaves that were large and a shiny black in the dark. The ground underneath him was cool and damp and Sam pushed up quickly to his feet. Peeking through the leaves above him a full moon filtered through the branches and cast an eerie glow over his surroundings.

"D'n?"

His voice barely came out at a whisper, his throat so sore and raw that Sam didn't think he could make it any louder. He could still taste bile at the back of his throat and he tried to swallow back the taste. His feet were unsteady, disconnected and throbbing with pain. Wincing, he half walked half stumbled towards a fallen tree, letting his hip rest against it. Covered in moss, Sam could feel the coolness of the log through his clothing.

Sam's eyes once again searched the nearby trees, sure that his brother would appear at any moment. Around him the branches swayed noiselessly in the breeze, only a small sound escaping as they shifted against each other. When Dean didn't immediately come into view Sam shivered and glanced down at himself. His eyes caught on his bare feet, his toes scratched and red. They were swollen and aching and Sam was certain he'd been without shoes for awhile. His pants and shirt were in a similar state, ripped and stained. The night breeze cut through them easily, his teeth actually starting to chatter from the cold temperature.

He tried to remember how he'd lost his shoes, how his clothing had gotten into such a state, but his head was achy and fuzzy. He wondered again where his brother was and his eyes searched the trees once more for him instinctively. They remained quiet, and the darkness and density of the trees made it impossible for him to see beyond them. Ignoring his still half clenching muscles, Sam rubbed at his arms in an effort to get warm and frowned at the crusty feeling his fingers encountered. Peering down at them, he was suddenly aware of every dark stain that covered him.

Even in the pale light Sam knew what dried blood looked like and he was caked in it. In fact, despite the cool breeze the smell seemed to hang around him in a thick fog. The strong stench of iron crawled down his throat and made his stomach tighten uneasily. He rubbed vigorously at several of the spots on his arms until the dark blood flaked away. Choking away the bubble of panic that welled just under his skin, Sam searched again for his brother and wracked his memory.

Like his feet, his arms were red and tender to the touch. They were covered in scratches, crimson lines that crisscrossed his pale skin. The scratches were both shallow and deep, the yellow and red bleeding out from them clear signs of infection. He bent one of his arms closer to his face, trying to figure out just where the wounds had come from and why they'd never been properly cleaned.

Leaning more heavily on the log, he brought a hand up to his face and scrubbed at his suddenly watering eyes. Now was not the time to be a wimp and crying wouldn't help him find his brother or his father. He was frightened though, his memory of how he'd gotten there and why his family wasn't there nonexistent. He knew that his brother wouldn't leave him out in the woods, wouldn't leave him hurt and alone and afraid. So where was he? Peering at the forest floor he studied the bent blades of grass that he'd been laying on. Around him the rest of the ground seemed undisturbed.

He knew that Dean would probably have never even gotten himself into such a mess of a situation and the thought made him want to give into the urge to howl like a baby. Sam wasn't like his brother though; he needed Dean to fix this, to fix him. His brother could fix anything. Shaking his head, Sam took an unsteady breath and tried to pull himself together. Closing his eyes again, he wrapped his arms more firmly around himself and shivered.

Where was Dean? Where was his dad?

Forcing his eyes open, Sam pushed himself up and off the log. If they weren't there, he would have to find them. He couldn't remember being on a hunt, but couldn't think of any other reason for him to be out in the woods. He wasn't allowed on hunts though and couldn't think of any situation his brother or father would have tolerated it. But if this was a hunt gone wrong, then Sam had to hurry. There could still be something in the woods or his father and brother could be hurt.

The ground below him was uneven and Sam stumbled to his knees. Feeling something foreign tap against his chest, he glanced down automatically.

A long leather cord was wound around his neck, a small metal looking box affixed to it. It was small, rusty, and worn at the edges; it shone dully under the moonlight. The sight of it made him feel light headed, made his stomach clench and twist. Not recognizing it, Sam searched his memory and swallowed back the sudden taste of fear. This too brought forth a blank space of nothing. His heart started racing in his chest and he took several deep gulps of oxygen. Black spots flickered across his vision and he felt as if he were choking on the night air.

He could sense the memory wavering just out of sight and knew without a doubt that it was no good. Sam could feel more tears gathering, his body so tight and sore and tired that he wasn't sure he would be able to stand again.

Bringing up a hand he shakily reached for it, knowing that it needed to come off. Just the sight of it hanging from his neck made him ill.

The dark metal was warm and smooth under his fingertips, an abnormalness to it that was unsettling. He wasn't sure what metal it was made of, it didn't look like anything he'd ever seen before. Turning it over, his fingers ghosted over the image engraved on the front of it.

It was a bird.

The illustration was enough to make his skin break out in goose bumps and he dropped the box as if were fire hot. The pain he had been trying to push out of his mind reared its ugly head and his entire body shook painfully.

"No, no, no, no, no, no no…."

Sam remembered then that he had tried before to remove it, that he had spent over an hour struggling to pull the seemingly light object over his head. His arms had burned as his muscles had strained with the small box. The attempt had left him weak limbed and dizzy. It hadn't come off and even now he could feel the impossibly heavy weight of it.

And with the memory of the box came the fuzzy disjointed memories of how he'd gotten there. Images of his brother and father and an old house filled to the brim with stuff raced across his mind. His father's warning echoed and Sam cursed his rotten awful luck. He glanced down at his dirty beat up frame again and this time was unsurprised by all of the bruises and cuts and abrasions.

Glancing up at the night sky, Sam took in the full moon with new eyes. Last time it hadn't made sense, now he was afraid of the conclusions his mind was coming to. His memories were still largely hazy and unclear but the pain he'd felt and was still feeling was enough to convince him that he wasn't crazy.

The knowledge that came with his memory didn't decrease his fear however. Instead he was struck with the overwhelming need to _move_. Staggering back up to his feet, he used the trees around him to hold his weight. The bark beneath his hands was coarse and jagged and he winced as it cut into his flesh.

He thought back to his last clear memory, pushing away the more immediate indistinct recollections of green trees and a clear pond. Time during those memories was a blur and Sam wasn't sure if an hour or a week had passed. Those memories frightened him.

Shaking them away, he focused on the other images in his mind.

A phone booth swam into focus. An old phone booth on the edge of town next to a broken down store with a tilted sign in the window. He remembered that. Remembered how the door on the booth had squeaked and the paint on the receiver had been chipped and faded. It had been pouring out and so cold that he hadn't been able to stop shivering and shaking. The memory of the rain was so strong that he automatically looked up into the clear night sky. Peering down at his clothes, he was surprised that they were relatively dry. More time had passed than he'd originally thought.

Trying to figure out just how much time had passed he let himself recall the memory in greater detail.

He could still hear his dad's voice if he concentrated, asking him over and over again if he was okay, if everything was okay. His dad hadn't been with him though and he tried to remember just why his father had been absent or how he'd heard his voice. He couldn't remember, nor could Sam could recall how he'd responded to his dad's questions. He did know that his dad had kept talking, his voice low and soothing. It had been hard to hear him, the rain on the booth generating a noise that had made it almost impossible to discern his father's words.

Then his brother's voice had started and Sam could still feel the wave of warmth his presence had created. Dean had soothed his fears and Sam had leaned on Dean's overwhelming belief that they would be together soon.

But they weren't together.

Dean wasn't there now and hadn't been there with him in that phone booth.

Sam tried to get his mind around the idea that Dean wasn't there next to him and his mind skipped and fumbled in confusion. Where had his brother been and why wasn't he there now? He was used to his father not being there, but Dean? Dean would never have left him alone on the streets in the middle of the night. He would never have abandoned him in the woods. Never. Dean was the overprotective pain in the ass big brother that barely let him use the restroom by himself.

And how again had he gotten there?

Leaning more of his weight against the tree, he shut his eyes and tried to concentrate. His thoughts were like water, slipping through his fingers the moment his attention wandered. He fought with himself for a moment but his last thought flowed out of his hands and out of his reach. Without a doubt Sam knew that he had remembered how he'd ended up there moments ago. Now, he couldn't quite remember anything except that he needed his brother.

"D'n?"

The words were barely out of his mouth before he realized that Dean wasn't there. Where was Dean again?

Sam looked around, the forest surrounding him unfamiliar and strange. It was night and the darkness was thick and heavy. It clung to him like a second skin and made his lungs ache with the weight of it. He shivered and heard a soft sound of distress escape him. He hurt. Every part of him ached and burned. How had he gotten injured? He tried to remember if he'd fallen down or tripped somehow, but couldn't recall.

His clothing was torn and dirty, a mess of stains and rips. Glancing around, he pulled himself forward and clenched his teeth. Despite the confusion, Sam knew that he had to _move_. The need to go forward was so strong that staying still made his stomach churn.

He had to find his brother and father. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there, but was sure that his family was searching for him. Stumbling over fallen branches and between overgrown roots, he moistened his mouth and tried to use his voice again.

"Dean?"

Though marginally louder and clearer, the word was still too soft to cut through the thick foliage. Sam trudged through the deep prickly underbrush, sweating and shivering and fighting the urge to lie down and sleep. Twigs and branches caught at his hair and clothing, leaving scratches and tears as he continued on. He wasn't sure which way to go, didn't know how long it would take him to come across a road or the edge of the trees.

Stumbling into a small clearing, Sam strained his eyes against the darkness and looked for a path. Seeing none, he sighed and resumed his short wobbly steps forward. He couldn't remember the woods around him and the image of a phone booth flickered in his head.

He tried to focus on the image but it drifted away.

Sam's lungs burned as he continued to move, time blurring as he struggled to make it out of the trees. He concentrated on each step, refusing to think about where his brother and father were and how long he'd be able to remain standing and moving. More than anything Sam wanted to be away from the woods. The darkness was suffocating and it created a tangible fear that seemed to be clawing up the back of his throat.

Half crumpling against a tree, he leaned his head on the trunk of it and tried to catch his breath. He was wheezing, his lungs seeming to fight each mouthful of air he dragged in. He was dizzy, nauseous, and so tired that keeping his eyes open was a struggle.

_Sammy._

The word was whispered in his ear, his brother's voice quiet and encouraging. Sam's head tilted up at the noise, knowing that Dean wasn't there next to him but desperate for the support.

_Sammy._

He tilted his head to the side, the clearness of the word ringing through his head. It wasn't so supportive now; it was loud and had a desperate note to it that he was unfamiliar with. Sam's heart ached at the nickname and he brought up a hand to wipe at the wetness on his cheeks.

Dean would probably be pissed at him when he realized that Sam was missing. Sam wasn't sure how the two of them had gotten separated but knew that it was more than likely his fault. If he concentrated he could count off the times he'd done something this stupid.

The frozen lake.

The broken down factory.

That old graveyard in Maryland.

The thoughts made him apprehensive and he knew that Dean would be just as furious this time. Sam had messed up, again.

_Damn it Sammy!_

His brother's voice echoed in his head, full of disappointment and irritation.

But Sam didn't know what he could have done differently. He hadn't meant to wander off, hadn't meant to get lost in the woods. If only he could just remember how he'd gotten there, where his brother and father were, why he hurt so bad. Maybe then he would know how to get Dean to forgive him.

_Sammy._

The name sounded again and Sam forced his eyes open at the rawness of it. Dean didn't ever sound like that.

"Sammy!"

Sam's eyes automatically scanned the darkness around him, stopping at the odd beam of light that cut through forest. His mind scattered at the out of place sight, the light far enough away that it shown only dimly for a moment before disappearing again. The forest around him was eerily quiet and his ears strained for some sort of sign that he wasn't crazy.

"Sammy!"

The voice was distant but _there_ and suddenly the wavering light and loud voice made sense to his unorganized thought process.

"Dean!"

Sam could barely speak and his brother's name came out in an odd half croak. Pushing himself up and off the tree, he lurched toward what had to be a flashlight. It flickered in and out of existence and he was certain that if he didn't hurry he'd be left there. He could hear his labored breathing clearly, loud and scratchy and shallow. His throat and lungs burned and his entire body felt as if it were trying to move beneath water.

He tripped, stumbled, and snapped through small branches as he moved. Below him the ground was an unknown black stretch of twigs, rocks, and other obstacles. The light was getting closer and through the trees he could see the dark shape of what had to be a person.

"Dean!"

His voice was still weak and now it was reedy and thin as he fought for oxygen. It hurt to pull in air and Sam wondered if it was possible for lungs to function when they were filled with hot ash. The shadow in the distance didn't react to Sam's pitiful attempt to draw attention to himself and he wished that the woods weren't so dense.

Using his hands, he maneuvered himself around a large tree, the uneven roots making his feet falter and stumble.

"Dean!"

The word came out at almost a normal speaking level, though Sam's arms and legs barely wanted to support him. He kept his eyes focused on the dark shape in the distance, the light turning in Sam's direction as the person grew impossibly still.

He tried to run, to force his legs to eat up the space between them.

"Sammy?!"

Sam's heart skipped at the worried tone, at the familiar voice. It was Dean, he knew it was Dean. And maybe Dean would be mad at him but Sam couldn't bring himself to care. Even if Dean were angrier than hell, he was there. Dean could help him with his memory, help him make sense of the jumbled mess that was his brain.

A sharp splitting pain suddenly raced through his left leg and Sam pitched forward into the thick underbrush. He blinked, trying to gather his bearings, and found himself sprawled out on the damp ground. Beneath him his leg was twisted, every nerve on fire.

The pain wiped away everything in his mind, scattered his thoughts and made him shake and tremble.

He tried to concentrate but couldn't remember what had happened. Instead, he swallowed down a scream and closed his eyes tight.

Sam knew he was crying, could taste the hot tears that were coursing down his face. His throat throbbed and in the distance he could hear something whimpering.

He wanted his brother.

* * *

Quick Author's Note: After writing this I realized that it contains very few spoken words and most of them are just "Sam" and "Dean" repeated… LOL… I guess that's just how it goes sometimes…

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Oh, and please review!

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	4. Doubt and Hope

Short author's note: The past month has been insane. I usually write over the weekends… and things were a bit too busy to get much of anything done! I'm thinking two more chapters left, but it's a bit tentative. Now that I have some time things will hopefully move along much quicker…

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Dove's Heart

Chapter Four: Doubt and Hope

Rated: PG-13 (for language and violence)

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

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Dean walked through the thick underbrush, hating the way the branches grabbed at his arms and legs. With each step they caught on his jacket and pants, pulling the fabric uncomfortably tight. He could feel them with every movement, closing around him and snapping beneath his boots. Picking his way over thick ropy roots, he inwardly cursed and struggled to keep his balance. The ground was uneven and covered in a thick layer of foliage that made it impossible to stay easily upright. He'd stumbled more times than he could count.

Glad that there was no one around to see him fumble and trip, he picked his way over a fallen log and wobbled momentarily before steadying himself. He was sure he looked no better than a new born calf making its first awkward steps.

Starting forward again, Dean maneuvered around two trees that had grown so close together they appeared to be one large dark mass. Branches twisted out from them and grew upwards in a shadowy mess that was impossible to discern in the dark. The trees surrounding him were old, tall and dark, with rough bark that seemed to cut into his skin like slivers of glass. The colors were bright and unnatural too, jewel toned and vivid even in the barely there light.

Everything about the forest was too much and he was getting tired of it. Dean didn't even want to think of the strong scents that stained the air. The smell of grass and earth seemed to saturate everything, seemed to cling to everything. It made his nostrils burn; the scent of _green _was so substantial he could practically taste it.

He hated it, preferred the reek of old pizza and moldy hotel room.

Around him the air was quiet and Dean's movements sounded like an avalanche to his straining ears. It was cold too. Not a biting cold, but a chilly breeze that had slowly worked its way underneath his coat and jeans as time had passed. Now his limbs were just numb, the fabric chafing uncomfortably against his cool skin.

He'd been looking for hours, searching methodically through the ancient woods that seemed straight out of a twisted fairy tale. Time had alternately crawled and swiftly passed in front of him, trees and trails blending together in his head until he longed for civilization. He was tired of the uneven territory, yearned for the smooth blacktop of a state highway. He'd found more deer paths than he could count, each crooked path seemingly no wider than his forearm.

Dean had spent most of the time alone, ears and eyes struggling to take in every noise around him as he moved. He was used to the woods, had spent much of his youth trekking through them with his father and brother. Now, without either next to him, Dean was unaccustomed to the suffocating sense of vulnerability.

He had known that something was wrong, had been feeling off for weeks, but only after separating from his father had it become plain to him. Somehow these last two months had changed everything, had changed him. No longer did he feel like a self-assured adult. No longer did he feel like he could handle everything that was thrown at him.

Hell, he had turned into a five year old, watching his father constantly, needing his constant reassurance.

_We will find Sammy. We will get Sammy back._

The words had buoyed Dean, had somehow allowed him to pick himself up off the floor and continue on when all he'd wanted to do was curl up and die. His father had been close enough to touch for a long time now and Dean could count the number of times his father had been out of sight on one hand. The two of them parting ways had been necessary, had been imperative, and it had seemed so easy when they'd originally planned everything out. But it had been difficult to let his dad leave, tough to watch him stride purposefully out of his sight.

It had been too reminiscent of another day, of another time in which his self assurance had lost him the one thing he'd truly needed to protect. In his head the image of his brother lingered, Sam slouched and tired, rubbing sleepily at his eyes as Dean walked away like the cocky little shit he'd been. So sure of himself, so ready to take on the big bad world.

It had been a hard lesson to learn, but a bitter pill that Dean would willingly swallow a thousand times if it would bring back his brother. He was nothing great, nothing spectacular. He was a fool and a child.

Alone in the woods Dean fought to remember the feeling of security that he'd had previously. He forced himself to stand straighter, to will the swagger back into his cautious steps.

Pausing, he visually scanned his surroundings and glanced up at the stars. Though he had a compass, it was shoved deep in one of his coat pockets and had remained there all evening. The air was clear and he knew the night sky well enough to go without. There was a map too in his front jean pocket, well worn and covered in red pen lines that he'd had memorized for days. His father had a matching one.

Dean knew the woods like the back of his hand, new every path, every stream, every possible place that Sam could hide or fall or run. He reassuringly checked the flare gun stuffed uncomfortably between his jeans and the small of his back. Phones were a joke this far from civilization and he'd long given up any chance of the battered object actually picking up any sort of reception.

Turning, he shone his flashlight down a possible path. The light barely cut through the thick woods creating a hazy beam that seemed insignificant compared to the surrounding darkness. He'd already canvassed much of the forest, every leaf and tree blending together in his mind. Dean tried not the think about his brother in such a place, lost and confused and hurt. It was hard not to picture Sam alone and afraid and Dean had pushed the image out of mind more times than he could count.

Now it was an effort to simply keep the weakly fluttering spark of hope in his chest from dying. They were close, so impossibly close that it made Dean's stomach churn and his jaw clench.

A blood soaked phone booth flashed behind his eyelids and Dean forced himself forward. The awful image was one his mind had conjured up repeatedly. The memory was sharp, practically painful in its clarity.

_I'm scared._

His brother's voice on the phone had been stuttering and soft.

Just the recollection made his palms sweat and his heart ache.

Several branches snapped and Dean cocked his head to the side. Despite the density and age of the forest, the animals he'd come across were few and far between. He knew they were out there, knew that the aged wood had to be filled with deer, squirrels, rabbits, and other creatures. They had remained invisible though, slinking out of view and avoiding the beam of light cast by his flashlight easily.

Another noise followed, leaves ruffling and twigs breaking as the large animal lumbered. It moved unevenly, its gait stilted and slow as it traveled through the underbrush.

Dean felt tension gather in his shoulders and his muscles clenched uncomfortably. The warning his father had given him concerning bears echoed uneasily in the back of his mind.

Quietly clearing his suddenly dry throat, he waited for it to move on. Listening to the animal as it continued forward, oblivious to the human nearby, he stomped down on his frustration. Dean had no urge to wait for a cranky bear that was out for a late night honey run.

He heard it shift again, the noise almost familiar in its hesitancy. Dean's mouth opened before he could stop it.

"Sammy?"

His voice cut through the night, wobbly and scratchy and filled with uncertainty. He cursed under his breath, furious at himself for giving into the urge. He'd done it twice already, calling out instinctively for Sam at some unknown noise. Both times it had been nothing and Dean was glad his father hadn't been around to hear Dean's frantic calls for a brother that wasn't there. And though this was clearly a larger animal, Dean hated himself for acting like a fool once again. It was pathetic, he was pathetic.

The rustling halted for a moment before continuing and Dean barely heard it over the unexpected rush of blood in his ears. Adrenaline pounded through his veins, twisted and raced and made his mind stutter as it attempted to catch up. The noise grew louder, strange and unnatural and recognizable. Though he couldn't see well, he turned his frame more fully towards the direction of the sound.

It sounded like no animal he'd ever heard.

"Sammy?"

This time Dean was certain the movement paused at his words.

There was a noise like wet sandpaper and Dean paused only for a moment before recognizing the sound.

It had been a voice, a human voice.

A voice that was dry and cracked and worn, raw and barely recognizable in its painful rasps. And even though he had barely heard it, was even now uncertain that it hadn't been his overactive imagination, he cleared his throat and yelled.

"Sammy!"

He could hear the frantic edge in his own words.

"D-n?"

The slurred and hesitant reply that echoed oddly in the trees and was unmistakable.

Pushing his way through thick branches and low bushes, he raced forward as fast as his legs would carry him. It was a voice that he knew, a voice that had begged him for a cookie, had recited all fifty states in under two minutes, and had whined petulantly when Dean had told him he couldn't have a dog. Dean tripped over his own legs and nearly fell flat on his face. He felt as if his feet were on fire, as if he were slowly drowning in sand. The ground beneath him somehow seemed to grow more uneven, the trees surrounding him were gnarled hands that reached out and grabbed at his feet.

His brother's voice sounded again, frightened and coarse and completely _real_ and Dean wished that his flashlight were a spotlight. The air was like mud, so dense that he couldn't seem to draw enough oxygen into his burning lungs. He frantically scanned the darkness, his actions frenzied as he tried to pinpoint Sam.

Knowing that he was nearly there, sensing that his brother couldn't be much farther, Dean's world narrowed. He thrust the doubt and fear that had taken root inside of him away and forced his body forward. A low branch snagged his coat and he mercilessly ripped the fabric free.

There. If he squinted he could see a shape almost completely obscured by the tall grass and thick leaves that hung between them. Dean watched the foliage shift as the figure moved forward, close enough now that he could make out shaggy hair and gangly limbs.

It was Sam.

A sharp cry split the night and every hair on the back of Dean's neck rose at the unnatural noise. In front of him Sam had stumbled to the ground, the thick grass nearly blocking out his entire frame. The abrupt visual absence of his brother had Dean unintentionally crying out for him, his own voice shaky and uncertain.

Hearing the fear and pain and _knowing_ that it was Sam, Dean sprinted across the space between the two of them. The fear he'd managed to squash rushed back into his limbs, making him feel light headed and dizzy. It was as if he had just ran a marathon, as if he had just been pumped full of pain meds.

Tripping over a large root, the beam from his flashlight skittered across the trees and ground. Dean, panting with exertion and dripping with sweat, froze.

There.

A pale arm was just visible in the beam of his flashlight. Nearly buried in greenery, Dean stared at it for a moment while his brain fought to catch up. After all of the time he'd spent looking, after all the time he'd spent beneath an ocean of dread, after a grainy film had spread and grown to cover everything around him, Dean felt as if he were just waking up.

"Sammy?"

Kneeling next to the half buried form, he tentatively reached out with his free hand while his other kept a painfully tight grip on the flashlight. Sam's skin beneath his hand was warm, his slight frame trembling. He could hear his brother crying, weakly sobbing into the ground beneath him. Dean's stomach turned at the noise and for a moment he wasn't sure whether it was the adrenaline rush or something else that required him to choke down the unexpected nausea.

Sam was turned on his stomach and Dean gently started to roll his brother over. He needed to see his brother's face, needed to have those wide eyes meet his own.

His brother let out a low keen at the movement and Dean froze. He recognized that sound, could practically feel the pain radiating off his brother. He had thought it was nothing, shock from the abrupt stumble, a sprained wrist from the fall, a twisted ankle from a protruding root.

Swearing under his breath, he picked up the discarded flashlight and scanned it over his brother's shivering body. He knew it would be easier if he used his other hand to push at the long grass that obscured parts of Sam but couldn't bring himself to do so. Sam was there and warm and real and Dean wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to let go again.

He moved the flashlight over his brother's arms and head, murmuring quietly in soothing tones. The noise seemed to calm his brother, who continued crying and hiccupping but discontinued the keening cries that hacked like a chainsaw at Dean's threadbare control. His brother was a mess, covered in cuts and bruises. His arms were noticeably smaller, the skin on his hands paper thin and pale. The t-shirt he wore was threadbare, torn, stretched and Dean recognized it instantly. It was the same shirt Sam had been wearing the day he'd disappeared.

"D'n?"

Sam's voice was muffled and barely discernable between the ragged cries that escaped his raw sounding throat. Sam wasn't just in pain; he sounded confused and defeated. The kid's tongue barely seemed to work in his mouth and it looked like he'd been wandering for days. He wished the truth were so simple. Sounding more like an animal than a person, Dean fought to keep his mind calm.

He had Sam, Sam was there, and Dean could deal with anything else.

"Shhhhhhh…."

Gently squeezing Sam's shoulder, he felt his brother relax fractionally beneath him. Sam took in another huge uneven gulp of air and Dean willed his younger brother to calm down.

Flicking the light over Sam's lower half, Dean inwardly cringed. One of Sam's legs was oddly bent and the wicked edge of metal gleamed clearly under the bright light. His brother's dark wash jeans were stained a dark rusty color. He struggled for a moment to wrap his mind around the image, to connect the smell of wet leaves and iron to the picture in front of him.

_Jesus._

The metal and dark colors snapped together in his mind and Dean's hand clutched more firmly at his brother's shoulder.

"It's okay Sammy, I'm right here."

His voice had wavered just slightly at the end, fracturing for a moment before he'd regained power. Shifting his body closer to his brother's, he kept the light on Sam's legs and lifted his other hand to help keep his balance. At the loss of contact Sam shifted and cried out quietly. The sound was low and barely there, the voice gravely and torn.

Using his softest tone, Dean hushed his brother again and touched his free hand to his brother's unharmed leg. Sam stilled at the light feel, his sobs once more quieting to soft whimpers.

The grass beneath Dean's legs was damp and the wet quickly settled into his jeans and already numbed legs. He eyed the rusted bear trap warily, his fingers skimming lightly over his brother's injured leg to the trap. At the light touch another choked cry escaped from his brother and Dean automatically brought the light to Sam's face.

Turned to the side, Sam had one hand curled up next to face, strands of grass peeking out between his clenched fingers. Mouth parted and eyes closed, Dean took in the pale face and reminded himself that Sam was alive. The miserable cries and tear stained cheeks should have been enough physical proof but Dean could feel the barely there line he walked fluctuate dangerously.

Sam's eyes parted slowly, squinting against the bright light. Redirecting the beam out of his brother's face, Dean took in the glassy gaze that sluggishly moved over his surroundings. His pupils were blown, barely reacting to the brightness.

"Sammy?"

Dean kept his voice soft and soothing, hoping that Sam would recognize his older brother. He knew that it was probably impossible for his brother to focus, that the pain had to fill up everything nook and cranny inside of him, but still soothingly moved a hand through Sam's tangled sweat drenched hair.

Sam visibly swallowed at the motion, the pain receding just enough in his eyes that Dean knew his brother was _aware_, if only for a moment.

"I'm here Sammy."

The words were like ash in his mouth, a promise he'd easily made and just as easily broken a month ago.

He moved his hands soothingly over the nape of his brother's neck, hoping to keep him aware for a few more moments as his mind wrestled with what he needed to do next. His hand brushed over an unnatural warmth and his fingers involuntarily tightened on the object, mentally mapping its shape. It was thick and sturdy, larger than any normal necklace chain. Despite its size the links were smooth beneath his fingers, almost delicate in shape.

Sam didn't own a necklace, didn't think that any jewelry was cool except whatever Dean wore.

Dean felt his teeth curl back in a snarl and his fingers spasm around the chain as he pushed down the urge to rip it from his brother's body. He knew what the chain was connected to, could feel the magic ripple and twist abnormally against his skin. No doubt the object was trapped between his brother and the hard ground.

An innocent looking box that contained the heart of a dove.

It had taken longer than he'd thought possible to map every object in the room, to catalogue their purposes, places of origin, and magical properties. He'd learned more than he'd ever wanted to about curses, charms, spells, and everything in between. It had taken the two of them twice as long to decipher how the hundreds of objects had fit together, how one object had been missing in a set of nineteen others. Their hotel room had become a madman's library, every available surface covered in books and handwritten notes.

His father had cursed and sworn and continuously poured over the hundreds of pages of tiny text. It was ridiculous that such a small object had torn apart their family so completely and easily. Dean remembered the shock he'd felt after his father had figured it out, the anger and frustration that had exploded from him before draining away and leaving only fear and sorrow. He hadn't known what it was like to be so angry, had never felt a white hot rage that easily blocked out every rational thought. He had wanted to murder and maim so badly that his body had trembled. The motel room wall had been a poor substitute.

Afterwords they'd scrambled over the evidence, rechecking every scrap of paper and obscure text they'd gotten their hands on to be certain. The two of them had gathered all of the pieces they could but even now there were still things that were unknown, a timeline that didn't quite make sense. With Sam next to him, Dean finally let all the unanswered questions and frustrations slip away.

There was still a deep tension though, a touch of terror that had practically sunk into his bones. And he knew it would remain until the cursed object was removed, until his brother was truly free and well and tucked away safely.

Taking a deep breath, Dean forced his fingers from the object and moved them back towards the trap. He could do nothing at the moment to the metal abomination that still threatened his brother, but the trap that cut deeply into his leg was another matter entirely.

Dean pulled himself out of his thoughts and watched Sam's eyes flutter shut, his eyelashes a dark shadow against his colorless face. Talking quietly and continuously to his brother, he grimaced at the rusted contraption. His brother's leg was twisted in the trap and clearly broken, the pants soaked through with blood. The wound was ragged and torn, a mess of cloth and bone and metal.

He pulled off his coat and draped it over his brother's slender shoulders. Sam looked smaller than he remembered and the coat practically swallowed him whole. He wasn't sure why he hadn't covered him earlier; though sweating his brother was practically shaking from the chill in the air. Just another failure Dean could add to his list. Sam sighed at the warmth and turned his head so that his nose was tucked beneath the popped collar.

"D'n."

Sam's voice was barely comprehendible and Dean wondered just how long Sam had been wandering around in the frigid dark searching for his brother. Bringing a hand reassuringly to Sam's back, he continued the low stream of words his brother had interrupted. His throat was getting sore from the continual speech but he barely noticed. Sam relaxed further, his cries finally tapering off as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Sam?"

The abrupt quiet was stifling and even though Sam was no longer in pain, Dean guiltily wished that his brother would wake up. Asleep Sam was too still, too pale and silent. Using his free hand, he stripped off his long sleeved flannel and tore it roughly into large pieces. Shifting his weight forward, Dean paused.

Against the small of his back he could feel the flare gun shift uncomfortably.

_Shit._

Cursing his own idiocy, Dean stood up and looked above him. Branches obscured the sky, creating a dark canopy that shimmered under the glare of the flashlight. Inwardly cursing, he let his focus shift to his brother again. Sam remained unmoving on the wet earth.

"Sammy, it's going to be okay. I'm right here."

Edging away from his brother, Dean glanced up into the trees. Not seeing an opening, he raised his voice and stepped further away. Sam remained unresponsive. Visually scanning, Dean moved farther from his brother, his gaze constantly skipping between the two.

After several minutes of searching Dean inwardly cheered as a clear space between branches came into view. The flare gun was warm from being cradled against his body and he couldn't help the weak smile that flitted across his face. His dad would be far, but there was no way he wouldn't rush towards them as quickly as possible. Hs father was worried out of his mind, was nothing more than a machine that researched and planned and held his oldest together. Pausing to check on Sam once more, he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

Bright light cut across the sky and Dean shielded his eyes from the abrupt illumination.

His brother's startled moan of pain was loud and Dean didn't wait for the light to fade before turning back to Sam. The noise and flash had startled his younger brother awake and he weakly cried out as he tried to move away from the brightness.

"No Sammy."

Dean gently knelt next to his brother and held him still as he moaned. Dean rubbed a hand over his brother's back and shoulders as if he were nothing more than a baby and lowered his voice until it was nothing but a low rumble. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he turned his attention back to the broken leg. Reaching for it, he took a deep breath and cursed the goddamn woman who had done this to Sam.

He fucking _hated_ witches.

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If you are so inclined, I appreciate and love all reviews! : )


	5. Reunion and Transformation

Author's Note: I just have to take a brief moment and thank youthere, who was kind enough to give this a 'once over' for me. Not only was she incredibly helpful, she is also an incredibly nice new fanfiction friend! I played with it for a bit after she handed it back, so all mistakes are mine.

Oh, and there will probably be one more chapter after this one... and it will probably be posted not for a few weeks... I have some crazy stuff going on.

Also also, I am going to take a brief moment and say 'review'... as reviews totally make my week. (sad, but true)

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Dove's Heart

Chapter Five: Reunion and Transformation

Rated: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

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Sammy sobbed weakly against the damp grass, the noise muffled beneath the arms he'd used to hide his face. Dean could feel the tension rolling off his little brother, could see it in the sharp angles of his arms and the clenched fists that clutched weakly at the ground. Sam's voice had gotten hoarse from his crying and it was cracked and barely audible. Dean had tried several times to shush him, to prevent Sam from causing any more pain to his already raw throat, but Sam seemed unable to stop.

Dean continued to murmur soothingly despite the doubts that clung to him, pitching his voice into the lilting cadence he'd used on Sam when he'd cried as a baby.

At four Dean had mastered the shifting swaying murmuring technique that had lulled his brother like nothing else. He'd watched his mother do it, entranced as she'd spoken in soft tones while swaying back and forth. It had taken him awhile, but Dean had used those memories, copied them until Sam's tears had stopped and his eyes had stared curiously up at him.

Now, he was overcome with the urge to scoop up his younger brother and rock him, to bring back the safe, innocent infant who gargled happily at everything Dean did, but he resisted.

Undoubtedly his younger brother would no longer fit into his arms the way he had years ago.

He leaned in closer to Sam, keeping his voice quiet and reassuring. Dean wasn't sure why he'd thought he'd be able to handle this, how his brother could forgive him for what he'd just done. Dean had made it his mission in life to shelter his younger brother and being forced to do the exact opposite made him feel oddly light headed.

Sam had listened to Dean earlier, had quieted and relaxed and allowed him to adjust his limbs with barely more than a distressed moan. Dean knew that Sam had trusted him, had instinctively believed that his older brother would never hurt him. But he hadn't understood what Dean had been planning, still didn't seem to understand where the sudden debilitating pain was coming from.

Dean had used Sam's trust against him and the very thought twisted his stomach.

It had been harder than he'd thought to remove the mess of metal, to untangle it from fabric and muscle and bone. His hands and forearms were still slick with his brother's blood, the weak beam from the flashlight causing the warm fluid to shine glaringly against his skin. His hands had been shaking too, his fingers somehow unable to get a firm grasp on anything as he forced himself to keep working.

Dean unthinkingly ran a hand through his disheveled hair and eyed his brother's leg carefully. He had cut away the torn pants and used the first aid skills his father had drilled into him to stabilize the broken bone. It had been hard to keep going with his brother's weak thrashes, his instinctual fight to escape. The flannel Dean had used to help stop the bleeding had already darkened to a messy maroon and the branch he'd stripped and used as a brace stuck out awkwardly.

Now, Dean continued to speak to Sam, though he was certain that his brother could no longer hear him. Watching his brother tremble and shake, he wished that Sam would pass out, that the shock would allow him to escape from the sharp pain. Instead Sam cried and begged for Dean, eyes glassy as he searched frantically for a brother that was right beside him.

He needed Sam to _hear_ him, needed the fog to lift, if only for a moment, so that Sam would realize he wasn't alone. Earlier, Dean had broken through and the thought that maybe he could do so again kept his lips moving. Wiping one hand against his jeans, he glared at the bloodied trap he'd tossed as far from Sam as he'd been able to.

Leaning back on his heels, Dean refocused. He'd kept his attention on Sam long enough that other sounds and colors had muted and, as he let his mind take a breather, the dark forest around him grew louder and brighter. He gently rolled his shoulders, hissing at the tension that threatened to lock them into place. Dean wasn't certain how much time had passed, didn't know how long he'd spent hunched over his brother's injured form, but his muscles were noticeably tighter, his legs a dead weight under him.

Dean glanced behind him, wondering where his father could possibly be. He knew that his dad had to be making his way towards them as quickly as possible, that he had seen the bright flare Dean had set off earlier. He needed his dad to be there, needed to feel the strength that his father's presence automatically created in him.

Reaching tentatively towards his brother, he paused to re-wipe his hand against his pants. It was still streaked with red, his flesh stained a shade of pink where he'd managed to clean it a little. Smoothing his brother's hair out of his face, he let himself slouch over Sam and gently rest his forehead against his back. Through the jacket he'd draped over him Dean could feel the warmth of his brother's skin. He was close enough that beneath the blood and metal and grass he could still smell Sam. Beneath the stench of sweat and dirt Sam smelled like the brother he'd burped, bathed, rocked to sleep, and carried from the fire.

If he strained his ears he could even hear the soft quick beats of Sam's heart as it fluttered in his chest.

Sam's hiccuping cries paused, his lungs pushing harsh gasps into the still air.

"D'n."

With Sam's face still hidden in the grass his voice was oddly muted and muffled.

Dean's eyes closed at the familiarity of the tone and recognized immediately that Sam was no longer crying out for an absent brother. Sam was acknowledging Dean's presence and it made the older brother fight back the sudden stinging sensation at the backs of his eyes. Although Dean hadn't stopped speaking, he answered his brother's voice.

"It's me Sammy, you're okay. I've got you."

Dean's hand in Sam's hair automatically tightened. Straightening himself up onto his knees, Dean opened his eyes and examined Sam's leg one more time before giving into the urge to stretch out in the damp grass next to his brother. The moisture on the ground quickly chilled his skin and ate through his shirt.

"Sammy."

Speaking in a soft voice, Dean lay on his side and rested his head on the bent arm beneath him. Reaching out with his free hand, he gently tugged at the arm covering Sam's face from view. Sam resisted for a moment, a low moan leaving his body, before relaxing and letting Dean shift the limb.

Sam's eyes blinked open lazily, his pupils so wide that only the barest bit of color showed. His cheeks were flushed red, his face wet with tears. He searched the night for several seconds before his attention settled on Dean. Dean watched Sam's attention slowly focus, his gaze gradually grow sharper.

"D'n."

Dean wrapped the arm not under him lightly around his brother, wishing he could pull him into the shelter of his body.

"Sammy, I've got you."

He felt like a broken record.

Sam's eyes slowly drifted closed and Dean resisted the urge to shake him awake. The kid was undoubtedly exhausted and despite the comfort that his brother's eyes open and alert brought to Dean, unconsciousness allowed Sam to escape from what was surely agony.

He debated whether or not to fire another flare but couldn't bring himself to move away from his brother. Sam was finally looking at him, really seeing him, and Dean was selfish enough to want that as long as possible. Keeping his eyes open, he watched Sam's eyelashes flutter and mouth slacken as he drifted into sleep. Dean let his fingers clench more firmly at his brother's back, forcing his breathing to remain even.

Though time had passed, the adrenaline he'd felt earlier was still there just beneath his skin. Dean wanted to lash out at the witch that had done this to Sam, wanted to smash and crush and _hurt_ her. The need to cause pain was so strong it was almost debilitating, but he longed for it anyway. He wanted to cut and twist and pull until there was nothing left of her.

His brother's condition wasn't helping the feeling, each cry and moan only strengthening his anger. While Sam had been missing the anger had been there, but buried deep beneath his frantic worry and bottomless guilt. It had been hard to focus on the witch when searching and surviving had been the only things his mind had been able to handle. It had been an itch he couldn't scratch, an uncomfortable sensation that he'd easily pushed out of his head. Now, with his arm around Sam, with the overwhelming sense of whole that his brother's presence brought, Dean's mind wandered back to the witch.

She'd seemed normal enough, a kind woman just past her prime who loved teaching Sunday school and local bake sales. Hell, she'd even worn sweaters covered in cats and smelled like potpourri and vanilla. Dean hadn't even detected a hint of what lay under her façade, would have held open the door for her or called her ma'am.

It was supposed to have been easy, was supposed to have been a quick in and out job. His father had tracked her down in days and hadn't even bothered enrolling Sam or Dean in school.

Sam shifted under his hand and Dean pushed the past and his fury away. He didn't have the time to focus on her, to remember the smell of rotting organs and formaldehyde. She was gone, and all the hatred in the world wouldn't bring her back, wouldn't give him the opportunity to make her pay. His brother moved again, this time clearly agitated. His eyes blearily opened, unfocused and red, and the morning light splintered through the treesand across his already pale face. His mouth gaped like a fish and Dean could feel Sam's heart racing frantically in his small chest.

Dean pushed himself up onto his knees, hands hovering apprehensively over Sam's body. He watched his brother's shivers grow, listened as Sam started crying loudly again.

"Sammy," Dean spoke loud enough that he could be heard over his brother's distress, "Shhhhh, it's okay."

Sam jerked, half shouting as his leg was jarred. Dean looked around, wishing that somehow everything would make sense and he'd know what to do. Around them the trees were still, the early morning light barely cutting though the thick foliage. He needed their dad to get there, had to have him fix things before…

Dean paused, eyes finally taking in the soft glow of dawn. He didn't know how time had passed so quickly, how suddenly morning had arrived. He felt as if only moments earlier he'd lost his brother, felt as if only seconds ago he'd stumbled back onto him. His gaze skittered back to Sam, who was now visibly shaking.

"Fuck."

Sam cried out again, his hoarse voice straining as it cut through the quiet morning. Dean instinctively reached forward at the shout, grabbing at the chain around Sam's neck.

The necklace was hot and it cut into his fingers as he frantically pulled at it. It burned in his hands and Dean could smell the scent of scorched flesh as he forced his fingers to hold tight. His arms strained from the effort of trying to move it, barely raising it an inch despite using all of his strength. Groaning with effort, he helplessly jerked at the firmly fixed object.

"No, no, no, no, no."

Trying to ignore the sudden fear that flooded his veins, Dean wrenched at the necklace again, the muscles in his arms burning from the strain. He pulled again and again, until his arms trembled and sweat dripped from his brow. Swearing, he finally let go and grabbed onto his brother. He clenched his teeth and ignored the spike of pain in his now injured hands.

Sam's arm flailed out, sporadically lengthening in a way that was unnatural. His back hunched as he rolled to his side, broken leg unnoticed. At the movement Dean's coat slid from Sam and Dean pushed back the taste of bile at the back of his throat. Sam's skin was covered in a fine sheen of red, blood welling up from his pores.

His brother was literally sweating blood.

Sam's clothes ripped at his twisting motions, the bones of his shoulders thrusting against his paper thin skin as they moved. Dean's hands fought to keep hold of his brother, the movement and blood making it almost impossible to keep his grip. Beneath him Sam suddenly jerked, his eyes searching out his brother's before snapping shut. His mouth opened in a stilted gasp, choking on the oxygen he attempted to take in.

Around them the air was charged and Dean watched helplessly as Sam's bones broke into a mess of angles and unnatural shapes. Blood splattered the grass and trees, ran from Sam's nose and eyes.

Dean wiped frantically at the liquid pooling at the corners of Sam's mouth, smelling the coppery stench of his brother's blood. His hands hovered over Sam, uncertain whether or not trying to restrain him was an option. Sam was trembling, shaking, _changing_, and there was nothing Dean could do about it. He cried out again and Dean found himself murmuring incoherently, wishing that he knew what to do. Sam's body was bent and twisted, every muscle tense with pain.

The cries were hauntingly familiar, their jagged, harsh edges an echo of what Dean had heard over the phone a month earlier. Dean didn't know how his brother had survived the pain then, how he had somehow managed to pick himself up and keep going. And he wasn't sure what was worse, hearing the cries and not knowing or hearing the cries and watching his brother's body twist itself into something else.

Dean watched, scooting back slightly when Sam's thrashes got too big to contain and by the time Sam stopped moving Dean felt years older. Keeping himself still, he watched his brother pant and heave and blink wearily.

If Dean hadn't seen it himself he wouldn't have believed it was possible. Even before, after his father had put in the last piece of the puzzle, Dean had scarcely believed it. He had spent much of his life embracing the idea that anything was possible, that ghosts and demons and werewolves were real and out there and dangerous. This though? This whole story was riddled with cracks, had been full of holes from the get go. This was impossible and ludicrous and so unbearably real that it made Dean's heart stop.

Uncertain if Sam recognized him, Dean remained motionless while his brother regained his senses. Shuffling uneasily, Sam made a sound of distress that made the hairs on the back of Dean's neck rise.

_Jesus._

Dean's eyes studied the smaller form that was his brother, taking in the long limbs and dark eyes. Sam rolled awkwardly up onto his legs, keeping his weight off his still injured limb. Dean hadn't been certain if the injury would translate, hadn't even planned on having the box still activated and on his brother when the morning came.

Sam's clothes were gone too_,_ having somehow managed to disappear. The earth around him was covered in blood, the dark liquid pooling and dripping on the grass and low hanging branches. Dean watched with trepidation, trying to keep himself still as his brother glanced around with wide eyes.

"Sammy?"

He kept his voice quiet and relaxed, as if he were talking to a skittish stranger and not his brother. Dean could hear the uncertainty in his own voice though, could feel how close he was to breaking down. Even now he struggled to understand how someone could do this to Sam, how a stupid object could cause him so much pain.

In the state Sam was in, Dean wasn't certain what he would do, didn't know just how deep the curse had worked itself. His brother froze at the sound of Dean's voice, his ears twitching as he slowly tilted his head. The action was so _Sam_ that Dean couldn't help the crooked sad smile that tugged at the edge of his mouth.

Sam stumbled back at the motion, nostrils flaring as he fought to keep his balance. He turned and awkwardly sprung away, the white spots that dotted his back flashing in the poor morning light.

Scrambling to his feet, Dean forced himself after his brother. Although Sam was injured he moved at a brisk pace, his gangly limbs easily picking out a path. Dean followed as closely as he could, uncertain what his brother would do if truly spooked. Sam didn't seem to know him, didn't seem to understand what had just happened. He wondered how Sam had managed to survive with his memory in such tatters, how much anxiety he had to have felt every time he'd woken up alone and somewhere unfamiliar.

Sam stumbled over a large root, his injured back leg catching as he attempted to clear it. Legs wobbling, he shook his head and bent it around to look at his caught limb. He tugged weakly at it, crying out in pain as it refused to give.

"Shit Sammy," he spoke in a low voice, uncertain whether or not to try and help his brother. With Sam caught Dean could keep an eye on him, could prevent him from wandering away like he had done before. He didn't like it though, didn't like watching Sam struggle to free himself.

The sudden sense of something behind him had Dean turning abruptly, his lips already curling back in a snarl. Sam was easy pickings for predators right now and Dean's fingers curled themselves automatically into a fist. With Sam stuck Dean would do whatever he needed to do to keep his brother safe and in sight.

At the edge of his vision he could see his father, body tight as his eyes frantically searched over the bloody field. His worn face was pale in the early morning light, his jaw clenched as he slowly made his way across the space. Dean's stomach somersaulted and his heart lightened at the sight. Even with his father looking haggard and worn, Dean knew that he would be able to fix this. His father had been waiting to find Sam, had planned and plotted for every possible situation. Realizing that his own form was hidden by several trees, he glanced quickly at his still stuck brother and then moved into his father's line of sight.

His dad's gaze immediately flashed to him and he started in Dean's direction.

"De-"

Bringing a hand up to his mouth, Dean signaled for his father to be silent. His dad stopped, eyebrows raised as he glanced around. Motioning his father to move forward, Dean saw the slight shock cross his face as Sam came into view.

_Is that him?_

The words were mouthed and Dean nodded. He watched the older man run a hand through his hair, looking suddenly much older. Moving closer to Sam, he stopped as his youngest caught sight of him and frantically tried to free himself. Dean's arm shot out, pulling his father back.

"Shit," the words were hissed through his clenched teeth, "He's hurt and he doesn't recognize us. Don't spook him!"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken so harshly to his father but the words escaped him without second thought. If Sam got away now, if he somehow managed to escape, Dean didn't think he'd ever recover. He couldn't imagine losing Sam again, couldn't survive losing Sam again.

His father nodded once, reaching behind his back and pulling out a gun. Even though he knew that there was no way his father would ever hurt his brother, Dean grabbed at the weapon instinctively. Sam startled at the motion, still tugging at his stuck leg and yowling in pain.

"Dean calm down," his father's edged voice ripped into Dean and embarrassment washed over him. "It's a tranquilizer gun."

Dean nodded jerkily, stepping away and refusing to look as his father took aim. He consciously knew there was no way they could help Sam while he was awake. And they couldn't afford to lose track of him again, especially in this state.

He flinched at the sound as his dad took aim and fired. The idea of his dad aiming any sort of weapon at his brother was enough to make his stomach churn. Turning in time to see Sam jerk and stumble, Dean's feet brought him closer to his brother almost immediately. The tip of a dart was clearly visible in Sam's flank, and his head turned to examine it as he half stumbled. His father tucked the weapon away immediately, already starting forward towards the drooping Sam. Dean followed after him, watching his father gently free Sam's leg and lower him to the ground.

Sam's eyes rolled in his head, his legs gently seizing as he fell into unconsciousness. Dean knelt next to his father and brother, his stomach still twisting uncomfortably.

He let his hand move forward and gently pet Sam's back and ears. As a fawn Sam was small, his legs gangly and long, his ears large and soft looking.

The necklace he'd worn earlier was absent and Dean's mind struggled to understand.

"Dad," he could hear the tremor in his voice. "How are we going to get it off? It's gone."

He didn't need to explain exactly what was missing; his father seemed to know immediately. Dean watched him examine his son's neck, watched him rest his hand against Sam's chest and close his eyes. Dean was certain his father was feeling Sam's heart beat against his chest, feeling his lungs expand and contract as he took in oxygen.

"It's okay Dean," his voice was strong and firm. Dean wasn't certain if the words were more for him or for his father but he clung them. "We have Sammy and we are going to fix this."

His father turned his eyes to his oldest and Dean saw a shaky smile emerge on his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled and he blinked several times, eyes wet and bright.

Dean felt a weight lift from his chest.

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	6. Awakening and Resolution

Dove's Heart

Chapter Six: Awakening and Resolution

Rated: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

Author's Note: This fic has been tons of fun and I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed it. I also have to extend a very special thank you to youthere. Without her this fic would have been riddled with many many more mistakes. She helped, more than helped, this fic become what it is today. (Except for the mistakes that still linger; I take full credit of those…) I cannot thank her enough for her comments and helpful suggestions… and her very sound reasoning skills.

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Sam watched as oddly colored shapes lazily drifted across his vision, crawling in a pattern he couldn't identify. He wasn't certain where they'd come from but their alien forms were strangely riveting.

His gaze followed them without thought, tracking their slow, blurry movements. A bright red worm wriggled on the far edge of his eyesight, the color so vivid it was painful. It meandered slowly, its body scrunching as it carefully worked its way forward.

His head felt oddly hazy, his body strangely disconnected from the rest of him. From far away he could feel an odd tingling in his arms and legs. The sensation grew more and more uncomfortable as he focused on it, as if hundreds of bugs were crawling all over him.

It quickly started to ache and he shied away from the images that suddenly flashed through his mind. Fragments of an old house, a worn path, and a black phone slid in front of his eyes. Sam's heart clenched at the pictures and the emotions they pulled out of him. He pushed at them, forcing them to grow foggy, relief filling him as the choking fear they'd brought with them melted away. The odd sensation ended.

He concentrated on the darkness encompassing him, afraid that if he didn't the terror would slowly seep back in. The dark surrounded him, so deep it seemed endless.

His attention wandered back to the worm, which continued to move, his eyes idly following its sluggish progress. Sam wasn't certain how the worm could stick to the inky blackness, or whether it was aware that Sam was watching it, but he cringed at the idea of it falling down on him.

He tried to wrap his mind around which way was up but stumbled when he even struggled to remember if he was sitting up or lying down. With the tingling pain gone, all of his senses seemed to have fled with it, leaving him floating in a worm infested gloom. He wanted to know where he was, even if he needed to remain blissfully ignorant of everything else.

His body, however, was heavy, each limb weighed down as if a ton of bricks rested on them. Straining, he tried to force his arms to move, to make his body follow his instructions. There was a heavy weight on his chest though, an added mass he couldn't identify, and his exhausted body was too weak to try and escape.

He sucked in a deep breath and cringed as it hit his throat. The air around him was cold, his lungs burning as they drew in oxygen. He tried to turn his head away from the sensation and was surprised when he was able to. The black beneath his eyelids skittered and flashed.

Although the air in front of him was freezing, his back was unnaturally warm. He trembled at the odd sensation, his body simultaneously hot and cold. He wanted to fold himself into the heat, to burrow away from the frigid numbness that made him shake.

The cold was shocking and uncomfortable, pushing the heat away and creeping and crawling until it was firmly lodged inside of him. It was impossible for him to concentrate on anything else while it pulsed against his skull. Creating a headache behind his eyes, the tight sensation blossomed until it ached.

He tried to move away from it and cursed inwardly when his limbs still refused to move.

Sam's joints started to ache and radiate pain. He felt like an old man, his joints and bones throbbing in time with each breath. His eyes skittered again over the darkness in front of him, his thoughts scattering for several seconds.

Though he was afraid of what reality would bring, he made himself pull away from the inky darkness.

Sam tried to open his eyes but they had grown as heavy as the rest of him. He lay still for several moments, the cold eating at him until he could not stand it any longer.

The need to know where he was grew with every second, his stomach turning more with each moment.

He tried again, his muscles flexing and straining uselessly under his skin. His heart rattled in his chest, adrenaline filling his veins as an overwhelming feeling of helplessness made him choke back the urge to cry.

A gravely noise caught and twisted in his ears, so distorted he wasn't sure what it was.

Surprised, Sam's mind sharpened and tried to focus. The air around him seemed to be vibrating, a deep familiar motion that made his teeth ache and his head rattle. It covered him like a blanket, seemed to slide over him until it filled every nook and cranny in his mind.

He'd thought that the inky blackness had managed to overwhelm everything, had cut him off from sight and sound. Listening, he tried to decipher the noise, attempted to figure out how it had crawled its way past the dimness and into his body.

He slowly stopped his attempts to struggle as he concentrated on the steady cadence that seemed to be directed at him. It grew louder and clearer, moving close by as he held his breath. Sam wanted to cock his head to the side, to move himself closer to the sound. He kept his head still though, afraid that if he shifted it would go away.

Sensation came with the sound and Sam could feel something warm on his neck and face.

_I have you Sammy; it's okay. Calm down._

Dean.

The voice was soothing and soft, and Sam's heart stuttered.

His brother continued on and on, low and cajoling, even though his voice was rough and almost unrecognizable. Sam listened to the words, letting the feeling of safety wash over him. His muscles automatically relaxed, the tension in his head and neck lessening.

Sam wanted to tell Dean that he couldn't control his limbs, wanted to ask his brother what was going on and where they were, but his body had become a prison. His ability to move came and went as if he were a wind-up toy and he could still feel the extra weight on his chest. He needed Dean to fix this, wanted Dean to make things right again.

Trying to pay attention to his brother's words, he absently watched the fuzzy worm slowly creep away and out of sight. He wondered if it had crawled back behind his eyes, if it had wiggled its way into his brain. The thought made his body tense again, brightly colored spots flashing momentarily in front of his eyes.

_Shhhhh Sammy. It's okay; you're okay._

Sam concentrated harder on Dean's voice, felt a gentle rocking motion as a hand rubbed soothingly at his arms. Feeling slowly bled back into them, the sensation of pins and needles traveling from elbows to fingertips. He pushed away all thoughts of worms and brains and focused on his older brother. Even if nothing else made sense, he knew he could trust Dean to make things right.

The swaying motion continued and something warm was draped over his legs and chest. He reveled in the sudden heat, his body soaking up the warmth eagerly. The ground beneath him shifted, the weight across his chest lifted and resettled.

_Is he alright?_

His father's voice sounded as if it were coming from underwater.

_He's fine, I've got him._

The extra weight clenched briefly before loosening and Sam felt himself slide another step towards consciousness. The darkness brightened to deep shadows and his brother's voice strengthened just a shade.

Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to wake up, didn't know if he could embrace the painful reality that lay just beyond the numbness. However, his brother's and father's voices continued to tug at him as their quiet conversation continued. He wanted to be in the same room with them, wanted to pull them close and feel the steady beating of their hearts. Just the idea made him sick with excitement.

Sam needed to see their faces, felt as if he had forgotten the shape of his brother's nose, the crinkles around his father's eyes. He wanted to drive away with them in the Impala, to stretch out in the back seat and nap in the hot afternoon sun as they traveled across the country. He needed to hear the low sound of his father's voice, Dean's off key, murmured singing as he tapped out a beat on his thigh.

As young as it made him feel, he wanted to hide himself in his brother's shadow, to have the crushing loneliness finally dissipate.

Without his family by his side Sam felt a debilitating grief. Even with his memories cloudy, his heart felt stomped on, shredded. He was certain that if he glanced at his chest there would be a ragged weeping wound the size of a fist.

An involuntary moan escaped his mouth at the thought of the injury and his throat tickled uncomfortably. It was raw, swollen and dry like sandpaper. The sound caught in his throat, aggravating it enough that Sam felt like choking. He didn't want to cough, could feel the pain in his chest and knew that it would hurt, would stretch and tear at his lungs and ribs.

The longing for a tall glass of cool wet water had him struggling to swallow. His throat was too parched to complete the simple action.

Opening his mouth Sam tried to form words. They caught in his brain, his mind tripping over and twisting around sentences he knew how to shape. Images swam in front of him as he tried to put letters and sounds to them. He wasn't quite certain his brain was connected to his mouth anymore.

"W-r."

His own voice was barely more than a whisper, pathetic and threadbare. He tried to speak again, the urge to cough bubbling up quickly. Sam didn't know if his brother or father had understood him.

The gentle rocking paused before starting up again.

"Okay Sammy, okay. Just hold on."

Sam listened to someone moving about and tried to force his eyes open. The weight holding him down shifted and Sam slowly felt his upper body rise. Raised into a sitting position, his head lolled to the side and rested against something warm and familiar. Instinctively he burrowed his nose into the warmth and breathed in the familiar scent of gun oil and leather.

Fingers ran through his hair, moving gently, before cupping the back of his neck and stabilizing it. At the sensation Sam tried again to make his eyes open, this time barely managing to keep his eyelids from sliding back down.

Around him, the room was dark and filled with long shadows and blurry shapes. He blinked and let his eyes slowly focus.

The room was familiar, the shape, colors, and smell coming together easily in his mind. Tilted up on the bed closest to the bathroom, he let his eyes wander.

The walls were covered in papers, the bedside tables and floor covered in books. In one corner boxes were stacked, duct taped shut with dates and numbers written on them.

It was as if a tornado had run through the room and he wondered how long his family had been there. He could smell old pizza and mildew and saw a bag in the far corner that was nearly unpacked. The light in the bathroom was on and he could hear the water running.

"Sammy?"

The space below him rumbled as the words were spoken above him and Sam glanced down in confusion. His own arms hung limply at his sides, a tan forearm wrapped securely across his middle. He was covered from neck to toe in a scratchy tan blanket. He looked at the soft curve he had instinctively nestled into, instantly recognizing the jut of his brother's chin and the curve of his neck.

"D-n."

Without thinking Sam turned his head completely into the space between his brother's neck and shoulder. Keeping his eyes open, he swallowed tightly and breathed in again. His memories were too fuzzy to discern but Sam was almost certain that he'd thought he'd never see his brother again.

"Sammy?"

His dad's voice was quiet and calming. Sam didn't know when his father had emerged from the now empty bathroom but the sound of running water was gone. The hand that cupped the back of his neck adjusted, tilting Sam's face so that he could see his father.

The sight was so unfamiliar that Sam instinctively jerked back into his brother's body. Making a noise of distress, he trembled as Dean's voice started soothing him again. The stranger in front of him didn't look like his dad.

His father had a five o'clock shadow, intelligent eyes, and a sad grin that appeared and disappeared quickly. The man in front of him was past worn; he seemed to be hanging together by threads. His clothes were stained and rumpled, the bags under his eyes large and black. He was thinner than Sam's dad, his hair longer and more unkempt. This man was foreign; strange and scary.

The man smiled and the wound in his chest seemed to grow smaller.

"Da-"

Sam stuttered on the word, the cough that had been growing in his chest exploding out in a painful wet gasp. He sputtered and wheezed, another cough following on the heels of the first. Clenching his eyes shut, his heart raced as his entire body seized with the force of it. Around him, he could feel Dean's arm tightening, keeping him from sliding off the bed or hurting himself.

The sound of a great wave echoed in his ears and he wondered if it was possible for his lungs to shrink abruptly. If, somehow, one had simply shriveled up completely and ceased to function. He could hear his brother speaking quickly into an ear, a hand gently smoothing over his forehead.

The fresh scent of grass flooded his nose and thick blades scratched at his unmoving body. He had been convinced seconds ago that he was in a motel room, that his family was with him and he was safe. Now he was afraid to open his eyes, the sense of being secure slowly escaping him. The air was cool, the stale recycled motel air absent. He was by himself, he just knew it, and around him there was nothing but miles of trees.

"-ammy? Come on Sammy; deep, even breaths."

He hiccuped and sobbed, the darkness seeping into his skin and weighing him down. He couldn't take the forest again, knew instinctively that he wouldn't survive another month.

His brother's voice continued, his words a steady stream that buoyed Sam as his mind fought to free itself. Slowly, the certainty of being trapped alone in the forest receded. The air grew stale again and across his middle he could feel Dean's arm, holding him so tight it hurt.

"That's right Sammy, nice and slow."

Sam tried to follow his brother's orders, his lungs struggling to listen to his brain. He wasn't sure how long he concentrated on Dean's voice, it continued on and on until it filled up every space in his head. The even beating of his brother's heart resonated up through his tired limbs, the voice and the steady thump-thump creating a familiar tune.

He tentatively opened his eyes.

His father swam into focus, the relieved grin on his face at odds with the concerned look in his eyes.

"Hey there kiddo."

Voice gentle, his dad extended a hand, holding a dirty motel glass filled with grainy looking water. The liquid sloshed up the sides as he brought it closer. Behind him Dean steadied his head again and Sam half choked as the cool liquid hit his throat.

Sputtering, he took a half breath and was thankful that his father waited before tilting the glass again. It was embarrassing enough that he was weaker than a kitten. His eyes traveled down the length of the glass, noticing the small cuts and bruises that littered his father's hand and forearm.

After several swallows the glass was removed, his father setting it on the bedside table as Sam cautiously took stock of his throat. It no longer burned and ached and Sam wished his dad had let him drain the entire glass, even if his stomach churned at the thought.

"How you doing there Sammy?"

His father spoke as if he were a small animal that might spook, his eyes watching Sam's every move. Though the question sounded innocent, Sam's head was still foggy enough that it seemed as if his dad was speaking another language.

"Huh?"

Sam knew that his father hated when he responded with stupid non-answers and tried to concentrate on the question. His thoughts were all wrapped around each other, tangling up his tongue, and Sam fought down the feeling of exhaustion that surrounded him.

He was tired, though, and as glad as he was that his father and brother were close by, the urge to sleep was growing every moment.

Sleep gave him the opportunity to avoid the truth, to ignore the trees and blood and the house filled with charms. He didn't want to remember, didn't want to the confusion that was masking everything to lift.

He didn't like to think of himself as a baby but couldn't bring himself to face the truth just yet.

His eyes slid shut as he automatically bent his head into the crook of his brother's neck again. As long as he could be near his brother, could hear the scratchy voice of his father, everything would be alright.

"I think he's sliding under again Dad."

Dean's voice was quiet and Sam could hear the restrained dread.

"That's okay Dean, your brother needs his rest."

Sam could feel the rumble of his brother's response but had floated far enough away that the words were nothing more than buzzing background noise.

He wasn't certain how long he drifted but the next time his eyes blinked open, he knew immediately that he was no longer resting against his brother.

Lying on his back, the ceiling above him was cracked and stained. The room was dark, too, with the clanging sound of the air conditioner filling his ears. Sam watched the ceiling above him, taking in the stiffness that ran throughout his entire body and absently wondering what time it was.

Against his chest, the comforting and restraining weight of Dean's arm was gone. Instead he could feel scratchy sheets and a lumpy pillow beneath his head.

Slowly, he flexed his fingers and toes, hissing at the tightness in them. Sam needed to be able to move, to stand up and run.

There were images in his head, horrible thoughts and pictures that made him sick to his stomach. He wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't, didn't think it was fair that he'd had to wake up at all.

Something shifted next to him and Sam instinctively froze in fear. He was tired of being afraid, tired of hurting, but the terror of the unknown was enough to make his body tense so hard it ached.

He didn't feel brave anymore; Sam wasn't sure there was any strength left in him for that.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he ignored his sweaty palms and craned his head to the side, thankful that his eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light.

Next to him, Dean rested on his side, his mouth parted open and heavy worry lines etched into his young face. Sam could see dark circles of fatigue under his brother's eyes, his body tense even as he slept. One arm lay beneath his pillow while the other curled itself on the bed between them.

Sam hadn't noticed before but, like his father, Dean was covered in small cuts. His visible arm was also noticeably bruised, even in the dark.

Sam watched his brother, eyes flickering between his face and the rising and falling of his chest.

He liked to observe Dean, had spent much of his life obsessively taking in every facial expression, every move. Sam knew his brother almost as well as he knew himself and in the last six months had seen how much of an adult Dean had become.

He had missed watching his brother, even if lately it had gotten to be nothing but painful.

Somehow, Sam had become a kid to be scolded, a mess of arms and legs that couldn't even manage to stand up straight.

Dean though? Dean had grown into an unstoppable force, someone who could face down any obstacle with a big grin and an even bigger attitude.

His older brother was no longer his co-conspirator and friend, he was Sam's keeper. .And Dean had let him know that more than once.

But Sam remembered something else, a memory that hovered just on the edge. His brother leaning over him, barely keeping it together while Sam had been certain he was dying.

Turning onto his side, Sam hissed at the unexpected pain that traveled up his left leg. Biting back a whimper, he sunk his fingernails into the sheet beneath him and took a shaky breath.

He had nearly forgotten about the injury to his leg but jarring it made several memories rush back. He could feel the metal teeth sinking into his flesh, could taste the mud and blood in his mouth. Sam could remember wanting to just die already, because there wasn't any way he could be in so much pain and not be dying.

"Sammy?"

Dean's arm gently wrapped around his shoulders and Sam could feel some of his older brother's strength passing over to him.

"What's going on Sammy?"

Releasing his death grip on the sheet beneath him, Sam reached out and weakly grasped the front of Dean's shirt. He pulled at it, knowing that it would be nearly impossible for him to move closer to his brother. The pain in his leg was too sharp, too debilitating for him to even consider shifting.

Dean quickly traveled across the width of the motel bed, wrapping himself around his younger brother. Sam didn't even pretend to be offended at the motion. He knew that before everything had happened, he had bitched and moaned and done everything he could to be treated like an adult. Sam figured it should feel odd to want what he'd tried so hard to escape but couldn't bring himself to feel anything but grateful.

He had tried to catch up, had tried to show Dean that he could be an adult too. Even if he'd known from the get go that there was no way he'd ever do it, he had tried. Dean didn't have to be ashamed to be seen with him. He was still cool.

Now he just wanted to hide in the crook of his brother's neck and shut out the rest of the world.

He didn't need to be an adult, not if it meant he had to face this alone.

Dean and his father had somehow managed the impossible; they had freed him from a nightmare that Sam had been positive would continue forever.

Everything was a mess in his mind, memories blending together to make a tangle of images, smells and feelings. Even the thought of traveling into the woods, of taking a safe hiking trail in a national park, made him tremble in fear.

Even worse, the thought of his brother and father leaving the motel room without him had him nearly in tears.

"Dean?"

Sam spoke quietly, afraid his voice would rouse their sleeping father. With his mouth trapped against Dean's collarbone his voice was nothing more than a whisper. After several still moments his brother tilted his head so that he could talk directly into Sam's ear.

"Sammy, are you okay?"

Sam could remember being asked that before, could hear his brother's voice looping as the question was asked over and over again. He nodded, pushing back the tears that hovered just out of sight. He was tired of crying.

"I'm sorry Sammy; I should have kept you safe."

Dean's voice wavered at the end and Sam felt the frustration behind each word.

Though Sam's mind shied away from his time without his family, he easily recalled the day when it had all started. His fascination with the objects littering the room, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and shuffling his foot against the carpeted floor as he waited for his father and brother to finish up. The feeling of resentment at not being included, the anger at being the third wheel again and again and again.

The pain when, once more, his brother had taken a step forward while he himself had been left behind.

"I'm sorry," The tears that Sam had fought so hard to contain trailed down his cheeks. "It was an accident, I swear. I messed up again. I'm sorry."

He knew that it wasn't his brother's fault, that it was only his own.

He was crying then, soft hiccups and odd gasps as he struggled unsuccessfully to stop. Dean rocked him, shushing him and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"No Sammy, it's not your fault."

Dean sounded so sure of himself that Sam's mind went momentarily blank.

"I didn't mean to," his voice was wet as he tried to explain. "I was just looking, I swear. I didn't mean to touch it…"

"I know you didn't Sammy, I know."

Sam couldn't help but talk over his brother, to try and make him understand.

"I'm just too clumsy. I swear I didn't mean to touch it. I wouldn't have, Dean, you know I wouldn't have."

He heard the whining in his own voice, the fear that Dean wouldn't believe him.

Even now, Sam could feel the smooth metal of the necklace he'd been peering at in fascination, the odd prickle that had traveled up his arm the moment he'd touched it. The dread, confusion, and agony as his body had hunched and grown and stretched and torn itself apart.

"I know you didn't mean to Sammy, I know." In the dark Sam saw his brother's face grow tight.

Sam nodded his head again, only part of him believing his brother's words. Even with Dean's absolution, he kept crying, soaking the front of his brother's shirt as he tried to pull himself together.

When the tears finally stopped he lay quiet.

"Dean?"

He could still hear the catch in his own voice.

"Yeah?"

"Am I… Am I gonna be alright?"

It was true that Sam didn't feel the charm around his neck, didn't sense the moon beneath his skin any longer. His body was his own, the wrongness that had permeated every part of him gone.

He was free from the witch's curse, reunited with his brother and father.

Sam was out of the deep desperate woods. He didn't want to change again, didn't want to feel the sharp pain that seemed to drive out everything that made him who he was.

But he still needed to hear it from Dean, needed his brother to say that everything was going to be okay. He knew he was too old to need such a silly reassurance but the words spilled out of his mouth without thought.

"Yeah Sammy," This time Sam could hear Dean's resolve and the arm around his shoulder tightened. "You're safe now."

Sam knew there was a story there, could hear it in his brother's voice.

After his last transformation everything in his mind was a blur. He could picture his brother, could see him framed by thick dark leaves and a slowly rising sun. Pushing himself to think harder, he could remember the pain of another transformation, somehow coming much sooner than it usually had.

He could remember ropes on his wrists and the heavy stench of incense in the air as his father rumbled off unfamiliar Latin words.

He shivered slightly and grimaced at the twinge that went through his leg.

"Shit Sammy."

Dean untangled himself from his brother and Sam let out a small groan at the loss of physical contact. Moments later Dean was back, propping Sam up on his chest.

"Here."

In the dark, Sam could see Dean's hand and the pill he held in it. He wanted that medicine, longed to sink away from the ache that radiated from his leg and out into the rest of his body. He fought for a moment to move his arm, then weakly grabbed the pill and popped it in his mouth.

Without a word, Dean reached behind him and brought forward a glass of water. Sam drank quickly, his brother removing the glass as soon as he was certain the pill had been swallowed.

"Dean?"

Settling back onto the bed, Sam let himself curl into his brother, only hissing slightly at the twinge it caused.

"Yeah?"

Dean's hand rested in Sam's hair, his voice quiet and calm.

Wrapped up under the thick, scratchy comforter Sam tried for a moment to keep his eyes open. He opened his mouth, yawning, and his mind blanked when he tried to remember what he had wanted to ask his brother.

Things were already foggy for him, sleep clouding his vision and tunneling his hearing. The question that had been on the tip of his tongue floated away, dissipating with the memories easily banished by his brother's presence.

The feeling of finally being safe made his bones melt and his body shut down. He burrowed his head into his brother's shoulder and breathed in the familiar scent of him.

"Sleep Sammy; I'm right here and you're not going anywhere."

For the first time in a long time, Sam slid into sleep without worry.

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